“Good man. Go forth and rope cows.”
“Will do.” Dillon was right. It was time to warm up his horse and get the rope loosened up. The rest could wait until after the show. That made sense, at least.
Coke was jogging in as he walked out. “Adam. How goes?”
The lead bullfighter was sweating, grinning, bouncing from foot to foot, the baggy shorts a bit too big. Someone was at his fighting weight these days.
“Good.” Adam clapped Coke on the back. “You look great.”
“Thank you, sir.” Coke offered him a grin. “Watch for Maker’s Mark. He’s in a shitty mood. We’re switching Mr. Bell out for that little Mexican fighter, too, in section four.”
“Got it.” He peered over his shoulder to make sure no one was too close. “Houston Rogers has a bad ankle again, but he’s trying to keep it quiet.”
Coke nodded. “I’ll catch him. No worries.”
“You’re solid as a rock, Pharris.”
“I try, man. I do try.”
“I know.” Adam grinned when Nate whizzed by, jogging laps. It was definitely time to get to work.
He headed back to the horses, back to the tack and the latigo and Bri, who was swinging a rope, slow and easy. That was more like it. Familiar. Comforting.
“Man, it’s sticky out here.” Bri grinned at him.
“Your rope hanging up?”
“Everything feels like it’s stuck together.”
“It’s pretty damp.” He glanced out at the arena. “Shit, I hope the dirt is worked good.”
“Bullfighters haven’t said dick about it, Troy neither. They’d complain if it was bad.”
“Well, that’s good.” He’d still have to run his mare through her paces extra careful.
“Uh-huh. Landon brought you some barbecue. It’s in the truck.”
“Yeah?” His belly rumbled, and he thought he could squeeze in time to eat before the show.
“Spoiled ass.”
Adam snorted. “Like he didn’t think of you, too.” Landon was Southern to the bone. He wouldn’t bring food for Adam without getting something for Bri and anyone else who might be around.
Bri had the good graces to look ashamed. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” Adam shook his head and flipped Bri off on the way to get some food. He’d have to thank Landon later.
He was good at that.
Really good.
“Cotton,you want I should pull your rope today?” Landon was flying. Fly. Ing. He’d done rode himself Bumper Cars for a ninety-three pointer.
Ninety-three.
Him.
Going to the short-go, yessir, and sending money home, praise Jesus. That last tax bill was done. Hoo, yeah. Truck time.
