I swing the reins around his neck, lead him from the paddock, and shut the gate behind him. Slipping the bit into his mouth, I slide the bridle over his head and secure the throatlatch buckle. He shifts on his feet, lowering his head as he closes his eyes.
Better.
“Just a quick run today. Back before you know it.”
He simply chews the bit, loosing a shuddering breath.
I throw the saddle pad onto his back, adjusting it behind his withers and then strong-arm the fender saddle over and onto his back. After tightening the girth and leading him around in a small circle, I readjust the tack and mount.
The second my ass hits the seat, he tosses his head.
I chuckle at him.
He has no idea who’s on his back.
Give it your best, you little shit.
Not giving him a chance to muck up, I push him into a lope and head for the fields. His quarters pop up as we turn into the laneway leading to the back fields. I push him faster.
I push my hat down as his hindquarters dance around. “Ah! Get on with ya.”
The thrill sends a wide smile over my face.
Who am I kidding... I crave this fire in my veins.
Kales is right, any fucking excuse.
Window rolled down, hand wrapped around the top of the doorframe, and fingers tapping the roof of the old pickup, I bob my way through a country rock song like I know every syllable.
A little past Okotoks, I glance at the gauges.
Gonna need gas.
This old girl sure guzzles it down. The countryside around the highway I fly down is burned from the harsh winter, as my own fields are. Grass is sparse on the ground, and I’d bet my last dollar—which won’t be too far away if I don’t have a win this weekend—they’re prayin’ for rain like we are.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into a gas station in the one-horse town of High River. I kill the engine once lined up with a pump and round the truck bed, filling up. The nozzle clicks and thunks to a stop when the tank is full, and I wander inside to pay.
Flicking my phone out of my shirt pocket, I check my messages as I walk for the counter. Two messages from Kales and one from Mom.
The same old shit.
Stay safe
Mom
Don’t die big man
Kayley
I send her the middle finger emoji and lock the screen as I look up, reaching the counter.
“Just the gas, son?” An old guy nods from behind the register.
I grab a pack of chips and a bottle of water and drop them on the counter. I don’t really enjoy junk food, but it feels wrong to not buy something. Brady can have them when I make Taber.
“Won’t make your cock any bigger, Jones.” The voice is familiar.
I turn back to find Knox behind me... lining up?
