“Shit. If I duck and run, I’ll never hear the end.” Beau gave him a pleading look. “Don’t you leave me.”
“I got your back, Boug.” He’d made his damn mind up. Being the traveling partner of the best cowboy alive wasn’t nothing to sneeze at.
“Thanks, Poot.” Relieved, Beau squared up to meet the press, smiling a big old almost-real smile.
Lord have mercy, they were gonna have a long, long damn week.
He sure hoped there was a million dollar payout at the end.
Chapter Twenty-One
Beau sipped his beer, watching Coke move gingerly. Damn, but the old man still didn’t look quite right, and it made him want to growl a little. Maybe a lot.
Sammy was sitting on the couch, playing Dillon in a poker game on their phones, both of them chuckling and making idle threats.
“So, how was Jase?” Beau knew Coke was achin’ to talk on it. He could see it in those hazel eyes, just haunted-like.
“Body or mind?” Coke sighed, leaned back in his chair. “Shit, Cajun. His body’s good and all, but… Shit. He don’t do nothing. He sits there and stares. At the beginning he got all into trouble and shit, stealing Andy’s truck and all, but not now.”
“Has he been riding?” Shit. Jason had been riding pretty good, and had seemed to perk up some.
“A couple. I haven’t been down there so much. I been traveling with Dillon, resting.”
A pillow winged across the room, hitting Coke in the leg. “No guilt, babe.”
Coke flipped Dillon off. Dillon made an obscene tongue-waggling gesture. Beau gagged out loud.
“Dillweed, don’t make me beat you. Did I show you pictures of the new puppies?”
“Bell, you’re like a proud daddy.” Coke was chuckling, those gray eyes lit like Christmas.
Beau grinned. “He is. They’re beautiful, though.”
“So are ours. They’re at a boarder’s. What’re we gonna do about Jason, Cajun? How the hell can I make this work ‘fore the sponsors find out?”
Beau glanced at Dillon, who shrugged. “The jeans people were happy with a voice-over that he recorded in Dallas. They did a licensed montage. The cola people, though, they’re getting restless.”
Sighing, Beau shook his head. “I don’t know, cher. I think we need to get him to an event. Something small.”
“Something not in Texas. Folks know him there. Something north, maybe?”
“Yeah. Yeah, or something back east. One of them little events in Florida. Hank might know somewhere.”
“Florida’d be better weather. Snow’ll play hell with Andy’s leg.”
Sammy hooted and Dillon kicked him, hard.
Coke grinned. “Boys and their toys.”
“No shit.” The food came then, and everyone oohed and aahed. They was still all hicks.
Sammy ended up next to him, stealing Dillon’s fries, making Coke laugh.
Dillon chattered about his ideas, from Jason to the new finals show to how they could sterilize AJ Gardner. Poor Missy was rumored to be swole up something fierce. Beau grinned, letting himself enjoy this—his Sam, his friends, everything. It felt good. Damn good.
This was what it was all about. As he got older, the riding, the winning—it meant less. The good people his sport had brought him meant everything.
He felt Sam’s hand under the little table, just barely touching, the contact sweet. Oh. Thank God for folks like Coke and Dillon, who understood. Shit, Dillon damned near glowed.
