What Buck had to say was more important though, so he refocused. He looked around the chutes and could see visible envy on the face of every other rider. Buck Bishop was in the house, and he was coaching Bullet.
“Are you Bullet Simmons?” one of the cowboys shouted over to him.
“Yep. Who’s askin’?”
The cowboy walked over to the chute where Bullet and Buck were. “I’m Harris Jones.” He reached up to shake Bullet’s hand.
Huh. Harris Jones. The name didn’t sound familiar to him. And if Buck knew him, he wasn’t in the mood to say hello. He didn’t even look the cowboy’s way.
“We have a mutual friend,” said Harris.
“That right? Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve got a hell of a lot of friends here tonight.”
“This one’s pretty damn special, though.”
“Yeah?” Clearly this Harris fella was talking about a lady. “What’s her name?”
“Tristan McCullough.”
Who was this asshole? Was he the one who’d turned her heart forever black toward bull riders? Given his smirk, Bullet would lay odds it was. What the hell did he want?
“We’re goin’ back out to Billy and Renie’s tonight. Pretty quiet out there, not to mention the only neighbors are here with us anyway,” Lyric told her.
Tristan wasn’t sure her father and grandfather would be up for it.
“I’m Lyric and Bullet’s grandmother. Everyone calls me Gram,” Tristan overheard her say to her grandfather.
“Hugh McCullough Senior,” he answered. “That one, there, belongs to me.” He pointed at Tristan. “And you aren’t gonna believe this, but everyone calls me Gramps.”
“I don’t know about you, Gramps, but I’d just as soon sit on the porch and listen to the sounds of the prairie tonight.”
Tristan’s grandfather smiled. “Sounds perfect to me.”
When everyone was ready to leave, Lyric volunteered to take her grandmother and Tristan’s grandfather to Bullet’s place, but Bill and Dottie insisted they ride with them. “It doesn’t get much better than sittin’ on our deck and enjoying such a beautiful summer night,” said Dottie.
Tristan looked around but hadn’t seen Bullet since the rodeo ended. He would go to Billy’s, wouldn’t he?
“Where’s Grey?” Tristan asked Lyric.
“Bullet took him to stay with Callie’s parents for the week. They miss him like crazy, ya know? Wait. Do you know who Callie is?”
“Grey’s mother. I know, Lyric.”
“Oh, good. That would be a downer of a story to have to tell you tonight.” Lyric pointed toward the barns. “Look there. You think there are any finer lookin’ cowboys at this rodeo? I sure don’t.”
King and Bullet were walking toward them. Each had their own unique swagger, and Lyric was right, there wasn’t anyone better looking than the two of them here, tonight.
“Who’s that?” Lyric pointed in a different direction. “I ain’t lookin’ right now, but if I were, that cowboy would be on my dance card tonight.”
Tristan looked over and squinted. Who was that? He looked familiar…oh, no. “Uh, Lyric, let me tell you, King West has everything goin’ on, and that man has nothin’.”
“Really? From here he looks pretty hot.”
“He’s only hot because he spends all his time in hell.”
“Huh?”
Tristan looked away. “That man is the devil, Lyric.”