‘Howdy,’ he said, eyes flicking over my outfit before going back to Lottie. ‘Lottie, right? I’m Carter, I was on the cattle drive at the Diamond Back a couple months ago.’
‘Oh, right, yes – I remember!’ She smiled. ‘How are you? You competing today?’
He shook his head, glancing to me again.
I raised an eyebrow. I had a feeling I knew where this might go.
‘No ma’am, just watching with a few buddies.’ We both glanced behind us, clocking the handful of other cowboys now nodding and smiling in our direction. ‘I don’t suppose you and your, err . . . friend here will be going out to Shelby’s later? It’d sure be nice to catch up over a drink?’
Lottie’s face changed, suddenly catching on. Honestly, it was adorable – being so into Cole that it didn’t even seem to cross her mind to think of any other men in that way.
I stood up, taking charge.
‘Hestia.’ I introduced myself, leaning over Lottie to shake his hand. ‘I think we will be, yes, although Lottie will be with Cole. You know him, right? Big fucker, arms like the Hulk?’
Lottie covered her mouth and dipped her head, shoulders shaking slightly.
‘Yeah, yeah, I know Cole.’ He acknowledged my tone with an amused nod and a curious smile, but otherwise unperturbed. He was cute, admittedly. ‘Maybe see you later, then?’
‘Maybe.’ I smiled sweetly. ‘Mine’s a bourbon. No ice.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied, tipping his hat again and shaking his head as his friends laughed.
‘Oh, Hes – look,’ Lottie said, still laughing but pointing to the arena.
And there he was. Clad head to toe in rodeo gear, from the tan leather chaps to the Diamond Back branded shirt, his smile breaking out as he roped the calf in record time. As the crowd roared and he pulled up his horse, Jesse seemed to search out the crowd, looking from under the brim of his hat to shield his eyes from the sun.
Lottie jumped up, cheering and clapping, and in the same moment he saw us.
I held myself still, expression neutral, but my heart picked up as he fully took off his hat and tipped it towards us. Running a hand through his hair, he placed it back and despite the distance, winked before turning away.
‘Well,I’venever received that before,’ Lottie noted as she sat back down. ‘Greatest sign of respect from a cowboy to fully take their hat off—’
‘Tell me he doesn’t ride bulls?’ I asked, noticing a sudden commotion to the right, where one of them seemed to be kicking the shit out of the gate.
‘Not any more,’ Lottie clarified, smiling at my blatant deflection. ‘He stepped away before he received more than a broken back . . . besides, Cole told me that his mum got sick around the same time. His dad left years ago, so he wanted to step up for her and his sisters.’
The myriad of sarcastic responses dried up and evaporated. Combined with what I knew of Jesse already, the picture building around him was . . .fuck.
As Lottie turned to me, suspicious of my silence, with considerable relief I saw the barrels being set up and heard Bailey and Dunkin’s names over the tannoy.
Attention turned, we watched as the first few racers belted out of the gate, their speed and precision breathtaking as they thundered across the arena, a blur of colour and dirt. There were milliseconds in the time differentials.
‘These are some of the best racers in the state,’ Lottie explained as the crowd cheered again, just as Bailey’s name was announced. ‘Qualifying here takes you on to the championships in Cheyenne. It’s a big deal . . . big money, too, Bailey says. More than she’d get in a year at the ranch.’
We held our breath as the countdown started, a roar as Dunkin rocket-launched up the centre of the arena, Bailey no more than a flash of auburn hair against the horse’s golden coat. The first turn was the tightest we’d seen yet, cutting so close to the barrel that I couldn’t believe it wouldn’t be knocked down. On to the next, and again, as Dunkin dipped down, Bailey leaning with her, it looked like the perfect turn until –
‘Shit,oh God, no,’ Lottie yelled, both of us springing up as Dunkin lost her balance, her leg striking the heavy barrel hard. She half went down, struggling bravely to stay upright as Bailey vaulted off in the next moment, her hat flying into the dirt. Officials began running in as Dunkin limped away in distress, eventually slowing as Bailey ran after her, calling her name. ‘Oh fuck,’ Lottie whispered, her hand over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. ‘She’s going to be devastated. Right before qualifying, too . . . and poor Dunkin . . .’
‘It’s okay, they’ll be okay,’ I offered, putting my arm round her shoulders, a huge jolt of relief at seeing both Jesse and Cole among the cowboys striding into the arena to help. But, as we watched Jesse supporting Bailey while she led Dunkin out, we both knew my words were hollow. There was no way Dunkin was going to be barrel racing again any time soon.
My solution was tried and tested.
‘Shots, right now,’ I ordered, Bailey tucked under my arm, grim stoicism setting her features. ‘There’s fuck all you can do about it tonight, I heard the vet say that. Dunkin’s patched up and comfortable, right? She’s had more ketamine than half of East London on an average Saturday night, so I’d say she’s having the best time out of all of us. Let’s get wasted and forget about it for now, okay?’
‘Can’t argue with logic like that,’ Jesse interjected as he joined our group at a table near the stage. Shelby’s was exactly what I’d imagined a bar in Wyoming might look like – a ton of dark wood, from the floors to the chairs, wall-mounted wagon wheels and old painted signs. The walls behind the bar were jam-packed with framed pictures of bands and artists who had played over what looked like a history spanning decades. ‘To Dunkin’s recovery,’ he toasted.
All five of us tipped back the small glasses, Lottie groaning as she tasted the contents.
