It was a little distracting, too. Cajuns. Lord help him.
It only took another three broncs before the mutton bustin’ and bulldoggers were up and they headed to the back, into the fading sun outside the arena.
“You’re gonna work the rest of the night, you ought to put some clothes on,” Adam said, dismounting to loosen the girth strap on Shylock.
“I done worked in the tie-down roping. Gon’ have to get on a bull here in a few.” Landon smiled over at him, crooked grin unashamed as anything. “Hope your brother’s okay, Mr. Adam.”
“Me, too, since I’ll need another safety man.” He wouldn’t, not really. The bull-riding only required one roper, as he’d have Sterling and the other bullfighters on the ground. What the hell was it about this kid that rubbed him the wrong way? “Thanks, though. For your help. Maybe I can buy you a beer later.”
“Sure you can. I seen you do it before, you’re good at it.” The kid hooted, hugging Sugarland like an idiot. Worse, the damn horse didn’t seem worried about it at all, and she fucking hated everyone but Chris.
“Well, I’ll see you after the show, then.” Gritting his teeth, he worked at cooling Shylock down, waiting to see if Chrissy showed up. The kid was like sandpaper, rubbing him raw.
“Hey, old man, need a hand?” Coke Pharris appeared on the other side of Sugarland, clicking at the big mare. “Dillon doesn’t want me in the stands right now. Bullfighters are warming up. Chrissy is on his way, soon as that little girl doctor sews up his ear.”
“Thanks, Coke.” He gave Pharris a smile, genuinely grateful. “Dillon pissed at you for jumping into the ring?”
“Little. Nowhere near as pissed as the Cajun is at Sammy.”
Adam hadn’t even thought about Sam Bell hopping down in the arena like he had. “Cajuns get dicey.”
“You know it.” Coke helped out, walking Sugarland, just as easy as you please.
Adam hunted for Landon, but the kid had disappeared. “You know much about Landon Gaudet, Coke?”
“He’s Cajun. Lives with his twin sister. Ropes like Rickey Green. Shitty bull-rider.”
Adam raised a brow. “So you don’t like him?”
“I like him just fine. Ain’t his fault he’s not got the strength to hold on.” Coke shrugged. “He cain’t weigh ten pounds in boots and jeans.”
“Oh.” Well, there it was. “But he’s a good roper?”
“Helluva roper. I make some money on him, as a rule. Told him he ought to rope with you.” Now that was high praise from Pharris, if he bet on someone.
“Seemed like he knew his way around the horse.” Okay, he just needed to drop this whole thing.
“Yup. You want to go get a beer after work?”
“Uh. Sure. I told the kid I’d buy him one.”
Coke nodded—sort of, with that still, twice-broken neck. “I need to go see Jason.”
“Okay, old man. Go on. I’ll be there when he rides.”
“I’ll pull rope for him.” Coke’s lips were tight. This would be the first public ride for Jason Scott since he’d lost his sight, andAdam still wasn’t sure this wasn’t the dumbest thing Coke had ever arranged. Fooling everyone? For God knew how long?
Shit.
If anyone could do it, it would be Jason Scott, he guessed. Adam shook his head, hoping to hell no one had to scrape the man off the arena floor.
“Adam.” Chrissy bebopped over, face looking like hammered shit, bruises popping up.
“Hey, bro.” He gave Chris a one-armed hug. “How you doing?”
“Gonna be sore as all fuck tomorrow. Not working this event again, that’s for sure. Jesus.”
“Yeah. Pretty disorganized.” He pondered. “You think I’ll need a second when Jason rides? Beau would do it, I bet.”
