“No other reason to risk my neck every week.”
“Well, if you ever get sick of playing hero, big brother, you can stop your suicide weekends and stay home. We like having you around.”
“We need the money.”
She adjusts her cap over her long blonde ponytail. “We do. Just saying there’s better ways to earn it, is all.”
I slide my shirt on and pluck my hat from the hook by the barn door and shove it on my head. “Yeah, well. You find me one as consistent as rodeo and I’ll take it.”
She shakes her head. “Any excuse. See you, brother.”
“Later.” I wave her off as the semi jerks forward and rolls out of the barn, leaving a littering of hay remnants in its wake. Thebig old machine shifts through a few gears and rubber meets the gravel road as I close the barn up and make for the horses.
The fields behind our falling-down weatherboard house are home to our six horses. The small stream running at the back of their paddock is low this time of year, and when I whistle, the herd tears through the water, galloping, hell-bent toward the fence line by the house. I lean on the wooden fence.
Something rustles in the golden grass to my left.
Patch, our—well, Nia’s—King Charles Spaniel, trots through the grass, coming from out from under the big old tree in our backyard.
“Patchie, where’d you run off to?” Nia calls.
A muzzle nudges my arm resting on the rail. I run a hand up the bay mare’s face and she nibbles at my shirt, looking for treats.
“Not this time, Missy.”
“You’re not taking her out today?” Nia moves in beside me, book tucked under her arm, and rubs the mare’s face, looking her over.
“Nah, might take Chester for a run.”
She screws her face up. “His attitude would scare the devil’s undies off.”
I chuckle.
Nia and her humor. If she doesn’t have her head in a book, she’s working on her dad jokes. And since ours was a joke, guess it figures.
“I ain’t scared of a little devil, sissy.” I mess up her hair with my hand, and she bats me away.
“Suit yourself, thrill seeker.”
Looks like the take on my pastime choices is unanimous.
My sisters, God bless them, would rather a brother than a ranch. Or so I’ve been told, many times, when I’ve been bucked off and sitting in some emergency room, broken and bruised.But until I can find a better way to earn extra money to keep our little patch of this sun-kissed, stunning country we call our own, I’ll stay chasing the thrills and money rodeo brings.
The back door of the house creaks open and snaps. Mom stands on the back step, arms hugging herself. “Need a hand today?”
She always asks.
And I always tell her I’ve got it handled. I don’t remember the last time she was on a horse. Or the last time she was up to doing much more than surviving.
“Doing a quick once-over on the cows and calves. A hot lunch would be nice later.” I give her my best smile, tugging my hat down firmer on my head.
She nods and smiles, heading back inside.
I duck into the tack room by the end of the horse field and grab my gear, resting it on the rail. Saddle. Bridle. Saddle pad.
Fisting the bridle and not bothering with a halter, I open the gate and coax Chester out. He shakes his head at me. Paws at the ground.
Off to a great start, bud.
