02-Let It Ride (6 page)

Just another day in the world of rodeo.

Like during the regular season, though with far less fanfare, Bridge and Kent set up a table for their traditional end-of-day card game while Marty doled out cold beers from a cooler that sat on the ground next to Marty’s rig.

A hoot and holler drew their attention to Craig and Rowdy, a couple of old roughstock handlers they’d known as long as they’d been on the pro tour, who rounded the corner of the trailer.

“Been missing my poker games with you boys,” Craig said, a huge smile splitting his weathered face, and he hugged and shook hands with them one by one. When he got to Tripp, he held on to his hand a little longer, leaning closer. “Real sorry ’bout what happened last year, Tripp. That weren’t right.”

“’Preciate it,” Tripp said, a rough edge to his voice.

“Good to see you back, man,” Rowdy said and pulled Tripp into a one-armed hug.

“All right!” Craig clapped his hands together, giving Bridge a start. “Enough jawing. Let’s get down to emptying yer pockets.”

Good-natured ribbing ensued while they tried to fit seven chairs around a four-chair table, when two new cowboys came around the back of the rig. Bridge immediately recognized Cory Ackerson, the rookie with a natural affinity for running pickup.

He also couldn’t help notice the way Eric watched Cory stride past the card table, sizing him up, which immediately set his teeth on edge and darkened the edge of his vision.

“I’m sorry,” Cory said when he stopped in front of Bridge. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game.”

Bridge must have been glaring when he looked down at Cory, who was a whole head shorter than him with boots on, because an older, rougher-looking version of the young man stepped between them, his stance clearly protective. “I tried to tell him he could talk to you guys tomorrow, during official clinic hours, but he insisted.” His expression was guarded, body language restrained, but he offered a hand. “Toby. Cory’s brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bridge said, accepting the gesture and fighting back the grin that wanted to break free when Toby’s grip tightened. Bridge understood the message, but he was one of the last people who needed the warning. He’d grown up doing the same thing where Marty was concerned.

“Toby.” Marty shook his hand and smiled. “No worries. We haven’t started yet.”

“Cool!” Cory’s smile was damn near blinding, and then he looked down at his boots for a second, like maybe he was nervous and needed to collect himself. When he lifted his gaze to look at the group, there was trepidation and naked hope glittering in his bright-blue eyes. “I, uh . . . I kind of wanted to talk to you guys about more than just pickup. Privately. I mean it’s kind of obvious I’m gay, right? And I draw enough attention as it is, but I didn’t want to bring on more during the sessions. So I was hoping I could talk to you tonight. I mean, if that’s okay?” He flicked his eyes to Bridge. “I don’t know if you’re gay or not, Bridge, but everyone knows Marty is and you’re his best friend, so . . . um . . . is it okay?”

Wow. Did the kid even take a breath?

“Of course it’s okay,” Marty said. “Grab a chair.”

Bridge could only stand there for a second until his bearings reset themselves. Listening to Cory—and watching, because he was a hand talker—was like standing in the center of a mini tornado. The young man had a spark that was hard to ignore, no doubt about it. Bridge smiled. The kid’s excitement was damn infectious, and he decided then that he liked the little greenhorn.

He reached for a chair and paused when his gaze met Eric’s. Damn if there wasn’t a hint of green flashing back in those captivating eyes. Encouraged, his smiled widened, and he raised an eyebrow. Eric frowned. The move was subtle, not something anyone would have seen if they’d hadn’t been watching closely, but Bridge caught it. Eric dropped his stare to the table and started a determined shuffle of the cards.

Hopefully everyone would clear out early enough for him to have a private talk with Eric.

The night didn’t progress quite as he’d hoped.

Cory had kept Bridge and Marty engaged as he fired off question after question, all the while peppering them with tales of his rodeo dreams and compliments on their prowess. Tripp had quickly been pulled into the conversation, and Toby had taken over his seat at the card table.

Bridge had found his gaze constantly drifting to the man who’d been playing a nightly role in his dreams. He’d hoped to get in on the game for at least one hand, but it was probably for the best he hadn’t. He’d just have ended up losing all his coin, too distracted by Eric to focus on the game.

One by one, Kent, Craig, Rowdy, and Toby tossed their cards into a pile in the center of the table, grumbling at their losses while Eric grinned and scooped up his winnings. He shot a glance Bridge’s way and winked.

“That’s right,” Bridge teased. “Enjoy the easy winnings. It won’t last when I deal in next time.”

“Whatever you say, pigeon,” Eric shot back.

Bridge flipped him off, earning a round of laughter from the guys.

Cory looked between him and Eric, eyes wide with curious innocence, and then settled on Bridge. “What’s pigeon mean?”

“Means he’s a sucker,” Eric answered, collecting chips and slotting them back in their plastic holder. “Don’t be fooled into thinking he’s a card shark.”

“So says the kettle to the pot,” Kent jibbed as he gathered the empty beer cans. “How much have you lost to him now?”

Eric looked at Kent in mock shock. “Whose side are you on, man?”

Laughter drifted off into the clear night sky, and Bridge stood, stretching his arms over his head to pop the kinks out of his spine from sitting so long. He’d changed into a T-shirt earlier, and now it rode up his torso, exposing a sliver of skin that Eric had definitely noticed. Bridge held still, letting Eric take in his fill while heat rose and spread under that stare—across his belly, up into his chest, and down into his groin. Damn it, this was no fantasy. He wanted Eric. In a bad way. Eric turned away first with a subtle shake of his head, and Bridge dropped his arms. Blood rushed back into his hands, leaving them feeling heavy and his head light.

That was when he noticed Kent watching him, a slight crease in his forehead signaling that his best friend was working something out in his mind. And Bridge had no doubt that
he
was the something.

“C’mon, Cory,” Toby called out, drawing everyone’s attention. “I think you’ve worn these guys out enough for one night.”

Cory stood and hugged each of them, his hat falling off in the process. “Thanks, guys.” He bent to pick it up and, with a bright smile, popped in back on his head without dusting it off. “I really appreciate y’all taking the time to talk with me and share your experience and know-how. I hope we get to hang out again and talk a lot more.”

“Anytime,” Bridge and Marty said in unison. Tripp nodded, and Toby rolled his eyes at them behind his brother.

When the card game was all packed up for the night and everyone had cleared out, Marty turned to Bridge. “Cory’s adorable, but oh my God, can that boy talk.”

Bridge couldn’t help but laugh. “I know! It’s like he doesn’t even need to breathe between monologues.”

“Kid done wore me out.”

“Not too much, I hope,” Tripp said and waggled his eyebrows. Kent groaned.

“And on that note . . .” Marty held out his hand for Tripp, who took it with an evil glint in his eyes. “See y’all at sunup.”

Bridge watched as the pair disappeared into Marty’s RV hand in hand, and then turned to Eric, who looked away quickly. He tossed his empty beer can into a box beside the cooler.

“Yeah,” Eric said. “I’m out too. Been a long day.”

Kent clapped Eric on the shoulder. “Later,” he said and then went to do his usual final double check on the horses before turning in.

Bridge didn’t really think about what he was doing, but before his brain caught up to his body, he’d closed the few feet between them and pulled Eric into a hug. Maybe he’d just meant it as a quick good-night-buddy one-armed-back-pat kind of thing, but when the burning heat of Eric’s hands settled on his hips, he squeezed a bit tighter, held on a little longer, and then did what he’d been wanting to the day before: he lowered his head into the crook of Eric’s neck and inhaled deeply. For as long as he lived, he would forever associate the smell of spice and oranges with Eric.

His voice was deeper, a touch gravelly when he said, “Later, dude.”

He loosened his hold, and Eric stepped back, putting a safe distance between them. There was unmistakable desire in his eyes, but something else lurked in the background that didn’t seem to fit. Fear? Pain? Definitely a sense of distance rising between them.

Bridge opened his mouth, but Eric cut him off before he had a chance to form a single word. “Good night, Bridge.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and disappeared around the back of Marty’s trailer.

What the hell was that?

Off-center but amped up, Bridge turned to find Kent watching him intently and mentally groaned. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“What?”

Kent leaned back against the trailer and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “You know those times me and Marty asked if you had something to tell us? You know we were always just joking around, right?”

Bridge nodded when it was clear Kent was waiting for acknowledgment.

“Well,” Kent continued. “Now I’m asking for real.”

Bridge sighed, took his hat off, and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I have something to tell you guys. But not yet. Okay?” He settled his hat back in place. “I’m going to take a walk along the river before turning in.”

Kent nodded, flashed a warm smile, and then turned and climbed up into their RV.

Bridge looked to the sky and sighed. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would get Eric alone and see where things might stand.

Halfway through the second day of the clinic, Eric was finishing up lunch at the picnic table with Bridge. Marty and Tripp had left early to “take care of a couple of things” again before the afternoon sessions started, and Kent had eaten earlier and was off talking shop with some fellow steer wrestlers.

Eric looked up and met Bridge’s stare across the table. The wheels were clearly turning in the man’s head, and there was a glint of humor in his expression. He reminded Eric of a big cat readying to pounce. He shifted slightly in his seat, wanting to be the mouse as much as he didn’t. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“I want to teach you to ride,” Bridge said, lifting the soda cup to his lips.

“Oh, believe me,” Eric said, pitching his voice low. “I know how to ride quite well.”

Bridge choked on the sip he’d just taken, his eyes widening while a flush spread over the swells of his cheekbones. Endearing, Eric thought, how Bridge could manage embarrassed and turned on at the same time. But also telling how quick Bridge had picked up on his meaning.

“A horse, stud,” Bridge said, his voice ragged from the reversed bubbles, and reached for a napkin to wipe the spilled cola from his chin, pooled right in that little cleft Eric kept wanting to slide his tongue into. “I can’t believe you’ve been hanging around the rodeo this long and haven’t ever ridden a horse.”