“Back in the day, we held a rodeo here every summer,” said Nanna. “So we already have the arena.”
“Of course, we need to build or rent some more bleachers for an event this big,” Cord a
dded. “But that won’t be a problem, since every single guest house is already rented at double the normal rates,” he said, proudly. “Our staff will work the event, and we get a percentage of the ticket price as well.”
“Is Mason McCaffrey entered in bull-riding?” Grinning, Jess sat forward, rubbing her hands together.
Cord wanted her to be enthused, but not about Mason McCaffrey. The man was a thorn in Cord’s side. He’d been employed as the Sage Valley Ranch manager for the past four years. But he’d grown lazy, neglecting his duties while he gave his attention to rodeo competitions. Mason argued that he needed to maintain his reputation as a bull rider to attract visitors. However, Sage Valley was more than a dude ranch—it was a working cattle ranch. When Cord confronted Mason about mismanaging the cattle, the stubborn cowboy blew him off. Even though a records audit showed a steady decline in livestock profits, with income from the dude ranch holding the business afloat, until a decline in reservations the past two years.
“I’m sure he’ll compete,” Cord answered Jess, holding back the criticism on the tip of his tongue.
“He’s still number one in the amateur bull-riding circuit, right?” she asked.
Cord frowned at her rapt expression. He’d never understood the term “starry-eyed” before. If only he could tell her how Mason’s inattentiveness had almost cost her grandparents their ranch.
“I’m not sure how he’s ranked,” he said. “Do you know him?”
She nodded, her eyes darting to study her fingernails. “We went out a few years back. Nothing serious. After Nick finished competing, I always rooted for Mason. I love to watch bull riding.”
Cord’s stomach tied itself into a thousand knots as he imagined Jess, sitting in the stands at the Sage Valley Ranch Rodeo, cheering while Mason rode a madly bucking bull, swooning as he leapt to safety after eight seconds and waved his hat in the air. The image played as clearly as a digital video recording in his mind. And something in Cord’s head snapped, all common sense vanishing in an instant. From his mouth leapt seven words that left him as shocked as his slack-jawed companions.
“I’m doing the bull riding competition, too.”
3
Cord held the phone away from his ear as Nick yelled, “Have you lost your mind? You can’t compete in bull riding. You’ve never done it before.”
“That’s not true,” Cord defended. “I rode once down at Gilley’s.”
“That wasn’t a bull.” Nick continued to shout. “That was a mechanical box in a dancehall. And if I remember correctly, it bucked you off in two seconds onto a padded floor, and you could barely walk afterwards.”
Forty-eight hours after Cord’s hasty declaration, he’d only managed to dig himself into a deeper hole. In the wake of Jessica’s excitement, he’d blathered some nonsense about taking up bull riding during a summer internship in Houston, which was sort of true, if you counted the mechanical bull. Then Mason McCaffrey, who’d previously refused to listen to his advice, declared that anyone with the guts to ride a rodeo bull must not be a stuck-up, citified, worthless, bag of air after all. The two actually had a long and productive discussion about how to trim the fat, so to speak, on the cattle production.
“Please, Nick. I’ve got six weeks to train. I don’t have to win. I just need to not make a fool of myself. Can’t you teach me?”
“No. And I can’t believe you called me at the crack of dawn to ask this question. Did you think I’d answer in my sleep and agree?”
“I thought you were my best friend who would help me in my time of need.”
“I’m not going to help my best friend commit suicide.”
“You rode a bunch of times without dying.” Cord presented the argument he’d been using to bolster his courage.
“It’s not the same at all, you idiot. I started on easier bulls and worked my way up to rodeo bulls. I had hours and hours of practice.”
“That’s why I need to practice a few times before the real rodeo. You have to help me.”
“Back out of the competition,” Nick said. “Forfeit your entry fee, if you have to.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“It’s a matter of pride.” Cord gave Nick an explanation that didn’t involve his sister. “I already told Mason McCaffrey I’m competing.”
“McCaffrey’s the best amateur bull rider around there. You’re never going to beat him.”
“I only need to stay on that bull long enough to earn Mason’s respect. I’m finally making progress with him.”