“Foundering horse. That’s my thing, when I ain’t riding. I help horses.” Fix roofs. Change tires. Unplug toilets. Wrasslealligators. Whatever he could do to pay the bills for him and Laurel.
“Huh. Why don’t you sit? I’ll bring you a plate when they’re done.”
“Oh, I don’t?—”
Beau gave him a raised eyebrow, Dillon chuckled and Landon went to sit, staring at his hands until the hounds caught up with him. Dogs was way easier than people. ’Course, by the time they brought out the burgers, he was mostly asleep, one dog behind him, one dog beside him, and one in his lap.
“Y’all let him eat,” Beau said, swatting dogs, and finally, finally, Mr. Sam came out from the hall, wearing sweats and a soft knit hat on his poor, broken head.
“Mr. Sam!”
Sam Bell, the best bull-rider on earth and a damn fine roper, grinned wide, clapping his hands in pleasure, and didn’t that make him feel like a hundred bucks? “Well, I’ll be. Hey, Nutbutter.”
“Hey, man. How you doin’?”
Sam shrugged, coming to sit across from him. The man still moved too carefully, but after the head injury he’d had, Landon thought he was doing right well. “You here to eat?” Sam asked.
“Gramps made me a burger. I came to say howdy to you, though. Been a while.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Not out much.”
“Yeah. You roping again, yet?” He so needed a roping partner. With Mr. Sam, he could make up some taxes and tires on his old truck, no stress. Better money in bull-riding, but he wasn’t as good at it, didn’t win as much.
“He’s not.” Beau held up a hand when Sam opened his mouth. “He’s still under doctor’s orders, kiddo. I’m sorry.”
“Merde. Still, it’ll come, hmm? Need you to be my heeler.” Mr. Sam and him, they did plumb good at ropin’ together.
Sam grunted. “Soon.”
“Sure. Until then, you ought to rope with one of the Taggarts,” Coke said. “Those boys live for that shit.”
His mouth went a little dry. That Adam Taggart made him stupid, which Mr. Sam probably knew. There was something about the tall, tanned safety man on a horse that made his eyes cross. He didn’t figure there was anything to do about it, but there it was…
Since that first beer, seeing that ink… He knew. Not that it made a second’s difference to Mr. Adam, Lord no. He’d made the mistake of going to play football with Cotton and them and, from that second, he wasn’t worth a lick, somehow. Like he’d gone from something interesting to a silly kid. He couldn’t reckon it, exactly, and he didn’t want to bring Sister’s hoodoo into it, iff’n he didn’t have to.
Sam slapped Beau’s leg. “You need for call Tag.”
“He’s working the minor league, since Brian broke his ankle. He’d have more time.” Coke leaned against the door frame, solid as a rock.
“Oh, I don’t know, y’all. Them are Taggarts, oui?” Landon didn’t think he could even spin a loop with Adam Taggart. It might distract him too much. He’d rope Adam instead of a steer.
“He’s one of the best, I reckon.” Coke chuckled. “Although I don’t know that he’s up to competing. The man’s getting plumb old.”
Beau snorted. “Not that damned old.”
Mr. Sam’s eyebrow arched. “Old ’nuff.”
“I’d hate to bug him. I know he’s real busy.” He didn’t want to be a pain in the ass, after all. Lord have mercy, he should’ve just rocked on to the house and texted Mr. Sam. He wasn’t one of the boys that was in the big show all the time, in the know and all.
“He’s gonna be in, uh, Denton this weekend, I think.” Dillon stole a chip off his plate.
Sam chuckled. “We go to there? Rodeo?”
Beau gave them both the fish eye, which made Landon scrunch his shoulders. Sam, though, well Mr. Sam just laughed, his weird, hooty sound just the same as it always was.
They all finished up their food, and he thought about just up and going, but Sam rose and put a hand on his shoulder. “My horse to come see.”
“Shit, yeah. I hear y’all been working it hard. I sure could’ve used your legs when I was walking horses down to the Robechaud’s.” Landon loved precious little better than them horses.
