Chapter Thirty
As bitter cold as Boston had been in February, Cheyenne was as blistering hot in August. Joa had to admit he liked the heat better, or at least he handled it better.
It felt a lot like being home, except home didn’t feel any cooler in the shade than it did in the sun and here the sweat evaporated.
They’d ridden through cowboy Christmas—him and Raul—trying to make money at all the events, big and little, and now they were on the big show again, fixin’ to ride in an outdoor arena like real cowboys. Joa loved that about Cheyenne. They didn’t have to cart the dirt in here. It stayed year round.
Raul bounced a few feet away, rolling his head on his neck and warming up. He watched from the corner of his eye, admiring for a moment. He’d been turned every which way but loose last night, Raul and Balta spearing him, fore and aft.Deus, he was a lucky man.
“Will you pull my rope, Raul?” Joa asked. “Balta has an interview on TV.”
“Sim.” Raul crossed himself. The cameras terrified him, made him lose his English, and he dreaded the attention that his rides inevitably brought.
Laughing, Joa raised his arm and pushed his hips back and forth, simulating a ride. “You’ll be fine. Just smile.”
Raul flashed a grin at him, bright and happy. Yes, that was all the cameras really wanted to see.
He turned to look when his bull was loaded in the chute. Big monster this one.
“Turns to the right out of the gate,” Cotton told him, squeezing past to go to the next chute. “Likes to throw his head up like Bodacious did back in the day, so be careful.”
“Okay. I wouldn’t want to break any teeth.”
“Or your face.”
They all nodded. No one would ever forget the first time they saw that ride on the TV—when Tuff left the arena with his face in a zillion pieces. Bodacious was still famous in the world of bull-riding, even though most riders still around had never even seen him.
Joa breathed deep, twisting side to side, warming up his ribs and hips.
He began to talk to himself, remind himself to lean hard. If the bull turned into his riding hand and he went down in the well… No. He’d fallen enough. He was barely staying on tour and Balta was sitting at sixth, Raul still firmly in second behind Kynan. If he couldn’t travel with them, he’d be stuck at home, alone.
The thought hurt something in his belly. Balta was his demon and Raul was his light. He needed them with him.
This arena was full of sunlight and the shine was so much better than the spotlights. Joa loved being outside, missed it sometimes in all the travel.
Focus.
Focus.
“You ready, Joa?” Raul asked. “Balta is coming. I see him.”
He beamed. Balta had finished his interview in time for both him and Raul to be there. Joa felt loved. Honored.
Now he just had to ride.
He straddled the chute, getting his bull rope ready, the bull leaning hard against the gate.
Raul pushed the bull with his boot. “I think the board,sim?”
“Sim. He’s not happy.” Of course, the ones that loved their jobs always worried him more.
Balta appeared next to him. “Where’s Nate? He will have the board.”
“Here. This one’s a bitch on leaning. He tosses his head, too. You watch your face.” Nate began to pry the bull away from the gate.
“So I heard.”
“Well, listen up. Troy keeps him coming to events because the crowds love him, but I know he wants Cash to retire the bastard.”
