Corralled (Blacktop Cowboys 1)

“The guy from outside of Rawlins?” Hank asked, meeting Kyle’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Who wouldn’t let us hunt on his place after we helped him with two days of haying?”

Kyle nodded. “He tried to corner me last night.”

“What’d he want?”

“Who the hell knows? He was drunk as shit, babbling about some damn thing. Know who else I ran into? Harper Masterson.”

“Harper? Was Celia with her?”

“No, which was weird, because didn’t Celia leave early last night because she was goin’ somewhere with Harper for the weekend?”

“Was there a live band? And dancing?” Lainie asked. “I like to dance. That band in Lamar the other night was good. What I heard of it, anyway.”

Kyle sent Lainie a suspicious look at her abrupt subject change. Sounded like she was covering for Celia. But that didn’t make sense. Lainie and Celia were the least likely types to become bosom buddies.

No one spoke for a while. The radio was off. Lainie stared out the window. Hank kept his eyes on the road. Kyle let his head fall back and his thoughts drift.

When he’d returned to Lawson’s ranch house with Abe last night, the lights were off in Hank’s bedroom. Somehow he’d tamped down his jealousy as he tramped downstairs.

As he lay in the dark of his bedroom, he cooked up several scenarios of how his night alone with Lainie would play out. Part of him hated thinking up new sexual tricks to use on Lainie that’d give him a leg up on Hank. But another part of him loved the chance to unlock his kinkier fantasies. Who knew if the opportunity would ever appear again?

Two hard bumps jarred him and his eyes flew open.

“Sorry. Potholes I didn’t see until I was right up on ’em.”

“Can’t believe I almost dozed off.” He stretched. Yawned.

“It’s a damn boring drive.”

“No, it’s not. The landscape is stunning. You can see forever,” Lainie murmured.

“Says the woman who grew up by the ocean.”

She whapped Hank on the arm.

“What was that for?”

“Because your tone annoyed me.”

Kyle grinned. Lainie was no shrinking violet. She’d definitely keep them on their toes the next few weeks. He was looking forward to it.

Hank navigated the inevitable road construction and pulled into the Campbell County Fairgrounds outside the CAM-PLEX. He offered to accompany Kyle to the contestant check-in area, but Kyle declined, as much as he hated leaving Hank and Lainie alone again.

The stillness of the arena during the day spooked him. It smelled the same—hot dirt, manure, animal flesh, and popcorn—but the air lacked the vigor of the raucous crowd and the nervous energy of the contestants behind the chutes.

The plump woman behind the window eyed him. “Lemme guess. Bareback rider.”

“Nope. Bull rider.”

She rattled off the entry fee. Kyle handed over the cash. The woman pushed a clipboard with the release-of-liability forms under the ticket window. “Sign here.” That done, she stamped a receipt, initialed it, and passed it back. She pointed to another ticket booth. “You’ll get your number over there. Good luck.”

He mumbled thanks and moved over to the longer line.

The guy in front of him looked familiar, but Kyle couldn’t place him. Luckily, the guy spoke first.

“I feel like we’ve met before, but I’ll be damned if I can remember where.” He stuck out a hand. “Breck Christianson.”

Kyle shook his hand. “Kyle Gilchrist.”

Breck snapped his fingers. “Now I know where I know you from. The EBS. You finished in the top ten in the world finals a couple years back.”

“Seems a lot longer ago than that.”

“Didn’t you have some kind of injury?”

“Blew out my knee and was out for a year after surgery. The EBS let me start this season, but after my piss-poor showing they dropped me from the main tour.”

Breck frowned. “Why didn’t you stick with the EBS’s secondary circuit?”

“Not enough venues. I need to get on as many bulls as I can to figure out what the hell I’m doin’ wrong.”

“I hear ya. Cowboy Christmas is my favorite time of year because of the number of stock I get to test out.”

“So what is your poison?”

“Saddle bronc. If there ain’t many contestants I sometimes dabble in bareback. Plus tie-down roping and bulldogging.”

Kyle whistled. “Glutton for punishment?”

“It’s the price of reaching for that all-around title.” They shuffled forward in line. “How’s the CRA compare to the EBS?”

It’d sound like pandering if he mentioned that the CRA people were nicer. “I’ve only done one CRA event, so it’s too soon to tell.”

“Where’d you compete?”

“Lamar.”

“How’d you do?”

Kyle grinned. “First.”

“Nice.” After Breck picked up his contestant “back” number, he said, “Good meetin’ you. See ya tonight.”

Kyle rolled up the square piece of paper listing his contestant number and jammed it in his back pocket. He wandered around, familiarizing himself with the grounds. Just as he was about to call Hank, he saw a flash of wild curls duck beneath the bleachers. Only one person had hair like that. He tracked her to a tiny room with a medical symbol on the door.