“Scoot, now.” There was a smell that made him groan. “Lord. He got him rot, Boll. I can smell of it.”
“Shit. I’ll get Troy.” The bull stamped, and Cotton held down a hand. “Come on, now, before he kicks.”
“Let me give it a look, first. I bet he’ll need a poultice.”
“Be careful.” Cotton disappeared, no doubt going to get Troy, the stock manager, and whoever owned this bull.
The other bulls were shifting, the contractors moving them about, and he had to do himself some wriggling, to keep himself from getting squished between hamburger on the hoof and the fence. None of them bulls wanted a piece of him, though. They was a docile lot when they weren’t at work.
“Nutbutter? What the fuck are you doing with my bulls?” Cash Bartlett glared down at him from under his XXX Stetson.
“He got hoof rot. It smells of it down here. You cain’t buck him.”
“Hoof rot.” Cash squatted down, peering through the bars of the fence. “I just had him vetted two weeks ago.”
“I bet they didn’t know or it hadn’t started.” He put his shoulder to the bull, encouraging it to shift, before pointing rightat the top of the cleft. It wasn’t big yet, about the size of a pencil eraser, but it’d get bigger. “See? Right there.”
“Well, shit. I got to pull him, Troy.” Cash shook his head. “I’ll have to treat it.”
“Come on up, Nutbutter.” Cotton hauled him up. “Good catch, man.”
He shrugged. That was what his people did. “You want me to poultice him once you get him in a stall, you holler.”
Cash nodded, clapping him on the back in thanks. “I might at that.”
“Come on, Landon. We got to ride again.” Cotton was bouncing on his toes. “Focus.”
“Yeah. I can do that.” Landon bounced, too, working his head in a circle.
He tucked his shirt in, pulled on his glove. He was second in the event, so far. He needed a win, a guarantee into the finals. If he could just stick it out for a score in the high eighties, he could do it.
“Adrian’s gonna pull my rope, man. Ash and Cameron, they can get yours.” Cotton nodded to two of the rookies, Colorado boys from way up in the mountains.
“Sure, Boll.” He nodded, smiled. Cotton was more particular that way. He liked the Aussies like Adrian pulling his rope when Landon couldn’t do it.
He waved at the boys. “Hey, y’all. Thanks.”
“No problem, man. Any friend of Cotton’s.”
He nodded. Shit, he didn’t have no troubles with none of the men, even that Kynan boy that could be mean as a ’gator with a broke tail. Of course, Kynan also had a sunny smile and a love of life that made up for it.
He watched Adrian buck off, Little Denny, then Bonner made his eight on Calypso.
Time to ride.
Landon stared at the bull. Okay, now. I need me an in to the finals, you know? And I need to pay Sister’s taxes, so you do good by me and I’ll spur for your score.
The big beast rolled its eyes, snorting out a ball of snot. This would be a battle royale.
He settled in, wrapping his rope, closing his glove and banging it shut. Mind in the middle. Mind in the middle.
He heard the crowd sigh. Cotton must’ve gone down. You and me, you beast. We’re gonna give ’em a show. Landon wiggled, got his seat, then nodded, the gate swinging wide.
Buckboard jumped out of the gate and turned right into his hand. Landon grinned hugely, sitting up, his free arm swinging. His ass started to slide, but he corrected, bearing down, Laurel’s face behind his eyes. He needed this for her. For their house. Hell, he needed this for him, too. A truck.
The buzzer sounded and he pulled at his hand, snapping out a curse word when the rope stuck fast. No. No, come on, you bitch. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Coke move in, Mr. Nate on the other side. Cotton was shouting at him, something about leaning forward to release the pressure.
Panic wanted him to lean back, but he kept himself on it, pushed forward. “Y’all! Help me, now.”
