Breene, K F - Jessica Brodie Diaries 01 (8 page)

Candace waved her hand and kept
walking. Still arm-in-arm, I followed without complaint. We struggled through
the throng of people stuffing their faces with all manner of fried things
before my curiosity got the better of me.

“Candace, who is Davies?”

“Willie Davies?”

I shrugged.

“That guy that you thought you saw
by the bull paddock?”

“Yeah, that guy.”

“That was probably Willie, yeah. He
doesn’t ride bulls or anything. Actually, that’s not true. He rides bulls for
fun. I don’t think professional bulls like you see here, but easier, less
dangerous bulls. His dad wants him to take over the company eventually because
the older brother went off and became a lawyer. The older one is really cute!
Davies...everyone just calls him Davies... Well, Davies is cute, too, but
untouchable, you know?"

Seeing that I didn't, she
explained. "Just 'cause he's got so much going for him. The older
brother...Thomas is his name...is a lawyer. That’s about it. I mean, that is a
big deal. I’m not saying it isn’t or anything, but it’s just that one thing,
and Davies has a bunch more. He has the bulls. He breeds them. He rotates them
so they keep with the animal rights stuff and all that. Well, the animal rights
people hate rodeos. But the best treated and kept bulls are kept by Davies. And
usually the best stock. That is his own thing. His dad had no part in that.”

Candace was in her element—talking
without interruption. She rattled on as she escorted me where ever we were
headed, and I let her, rapt in attention.

“Then you got taking over the
business,” she continued, “I‘ve heard that he doesn’t want to, but will. I
don’t know. Then he has properties, and a ranch, and lots of livestock, and the
whole thing. His dad’s thing is only one part. He’ll probably be wealthy off
that and all, but then he’s got a ton of his own stuff that also makes money.
Plus he looks good, and I hear he is real nice. Untouchable, you know?”

Through the long-winded explanation
of his person, my heart sank lower and lower. It must be the same guy, I just
didn’t know he was on such a high pedestal. The abnormally hot guys that turn
your insides to gravy are rare enough. The ones that do that, which are also
gentlemen, are about three percent of the population. Add into that the guys who
are also successful? My chances equaled non-existent.

Candace had her worry mask on as we
stopped in a beer line. “Geez girl, you look like your cat got run over.”

“My cat.... no, I’m fine. Just hate
being told people are better than me.”

Instead of laughing at my
hilarious, and true, joke, she said, “Look, we’ll get you a beer, and me a
beer, and meet up with everyone else. They’re really nice guys, but they can
get to be too much.”

“Yes. Yes, they can.”

She sighed. “Well, they’ll loosen
up. Say ‘no’ a few more times and they’ll move on to the next girl.”

Awesome, huge confidence boost,
that. I thought sarcastically.

All she had to do now was throw
some dirt in my face and rub ketchup on my white shirt and I'd be all set.

We got our drinks and hit the stands
to meet the rest of the crew. I quickly stuffed Candace between me and Dave. I
didn't need his hands following his roaming eyes.

My neighbor on the other side was
an older man with a large, handle-bar mustache. I gawked in amazement—I
couldn’t help it. Black, long, expertly manicured, it was a masterpiece. You
didn’t see that shit often.

I had my phone out, incognito, and
was just about to snap off a picture when he looked down at me.

Ah!

Those shockingly pretty green eyes
rooted me to the stands. He stood with a scowl, glaring.

I slipped my phone back into my
purse, trying to smile through my grimace.

“Stand up, Jessica!” Candace
whispered frantically.

Yeah, right, and have this guy belt
me for trying to steal his soul with my smartphone? That’d be the day!

“Oh-oh say can you see—“

I jumped up as if sitting on
springs and slapped my hand to my chest. Now I understood the scowl. Only
someone with a death wish didn't worship
America
while in
Texas
.

Lesson learned.

As the decent signer was ending her
montage of national pride, a collection of fine horses with sparkly young women
erupted from the opened gates to either side of the structure in the middle of
the stadium.

“These are the teen
something-or-other,” Candace explained “helpfully.”

Three pairs of brown horses with
their uniformed riders did a lap around the arena with a giant American and
Texas
flag. Their outfits, made with some cheap, heavy material, and fastened with so
many rhinestones Elvis would be jealous, sparkled and threw the light, blinding
anyone paying attention—which were all the old men.

“What’s up first?” Sara, a girl
that hated me and loved Phil, asked after the girls had done a few laps and
smiled their way out.

“Tie-Down, I think,” Dave answered.

After a long pause and some tongue
waving by the announcer, a different gate, directly under the constructed
booth—which was a two-story structure—spit out a little calf running like hell.

“Oh! How cute!” I exclaimed,
leaning forward.

A cowboy on a horse erupted through
a gate on the far left, in hot pursuit, swinging a lasso over his head. He was
fast and practiced, controlling the rope as if he'd been doing this all his
life.

When the rider was a couple horse
lengths away from the fleeing calf, he gave a mighty lob, the rope flinging in
front of him like a web from his wrist. The loop circled the calf’s two back
legs, tangled, and snapped taught as the cowboy gave a jerk.

The horse stopped. Dead stopped. As
in, running really fast one second, then standing still the next. It was a
great trick for everyone but the poor calf, who was ripped backward. Its front
feet, unable to hold, gave out, scraping its face along the ground.

Handle-Bar-Man was scowling down at
me again. Apparently that weird squeal I’d just heard came from me…

As the poor little calf was
flailing, trying to get back up, its back legs tied and held in the air as the
horse continued to yank on the rope, the cowboy jumped to the ground and
sprinted forward. Once to the struggling calf, he jammed his knee into its neck
to keep it put, grabbed its legs, and started tying its feet together. His
hands moved at super-sonic speeds, round and round the two caught feet, and
then to one of the front feet. Round and round, some sort of knot, and the
cowboy was up, his hands in the air like he just perfectly landed a gymnastics
vault.

“Oh yeah, good for you, dude. You
just got one over on a tiny calf!” I seethed.

I shot Handle-Bar a warning glance,
promising death if he dared interrupt my bovine crusade.

It didn’t turn away his glance.

The announcer gave the time and
praised the cowboy for his great work at S&M. A ten gallon smile to match
his hat, the cowboy got back on the horse, released the rope, and went on his
way, waving to the crowd as he left.

“Stop snorting, you’re making a
scene,” Candace whispered.

I ignored Candace. You can’t let a
little rain ruin your half-hearted protest.

The calf, seeing its tormentor
leaving, tried to get up and walk out. Hard to do when all but one of your legs
is tied together. The poor thing struggled until two young boys ran in to mess
with the rope. It was enough for me. I wasn’t all that into this “sport.” I
decided to get a beer and look at smelly animals. Or smelly people. Or maybe
even ride the Ferris Wheel. Anything but watch the poor calves chased around
and tied up.

JP interrupted my attempt at
standing.

“What’s up JP?”

“Just thought I’d come and explain
things about this event so you get the full gist of it.”

“Oh. Well that’s okay. I’m not a
big history buff. I hear the beer stand calling my name.”

“Just give me a second now.”

The next cowboy caught up with the
calf, threw the rope, and only caught one leg this time. Apparently that was
bad news, since the crowd made a disapproving groan. I thought getting both
feet caught up was bad. The calf now had one leg pulled up at an awkward angle
and was trying to scurry away on its remaining three limbs.

“On the ranch,” JP was saying.
“Cows and calves wander the fields with very little restriction. They have some
fences here and there to keep them on the property, but many ranches are so big
that the animals don’t see those fences often. When it is time for branding--”

I flinched. What’s worse than being
hamstrung by a dude and a horse? Having your flesh burned off by hot iron,
that’s what.

“Yeah, branding sucks.” Apparently
JP noticed my flinch. “But it isn’t so much worse than a tattoo. And cows have
tougher hides than humans...”

“JP, it is beer-thirty, and you’re
in my way.”

“Okay, okay. Just listen. When a
calf needs medicine or is hurt or something, they need to round it up and get
it back to where it can get treatment, right? Well, they aren’t dogs; they
don’t come when you call them. So the cowboys gotta go out on the ranch and get
‘em like you see here. They run like hell when you try to catch them, so you
gotta rope ‘em, tie ‘em up, and doctor ‘em. It looks worse than it is.”

“It does? Really? When were you
running full steam away from someone that caught your feet with a rope and
pulled?”

JP gave me a disapproving scowl.
“No, it really isn’t as bad as all that.”

I smiled to ease the tension,
nodded, and said, “Probably not. But it is just a little much right out of the
gate for this non-country girl. My sport is drinking at present, and I would
like to get back to that.”

JP sighed and gave the “o-lay”
gesture. Get on your way, little doggie.

Handle-Bar was probably relieved.

After I had a brew in hand, I
wandered through the livestock area and saw the prize animals. I couldn't
focus, though. Discolored hay and poop was all my brain registered.

Poop. Ew.

God boomed from the heavens that
Team Roping would begin soon. Oh good, one cowboy on a horse wasn’t enough, the
poor calf needed to get double-teamed.

On the way to the Ferris Wheel, I
noticed a small crowd forming in the bull area. Hoping some sort of action was
afoot, I headed that way. Unfortunately, when I got there, nothing was
happening. Just a bunch of guys looking at the monsters.

As I looked around for the second
time, I overhead two cowboys talking about one of bulls. The older one was
complimenting the younger one on a great draw. Intrigued, which is a nice way
of saying confused, I stepped up to the bull in question.

Its large head slowly swayed in my
direction. As if in comment to its audience, it gave a loud grunt. It sounded
like a dragon! I immediately backed up. It had me locked in a stare off with a
slightly lowered head. I did not wish to die today.

“The smaller ones aren’t always
easier, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

My insides felt like champagne
popping a cork.

It was said right behind me, from
someone obviously experienced in ninja warfare, because I’d thought the only
people near were the ones I was eavesdropping on!

Jumping with the scare, I must have
cleared the ground and convulsed at the same time, but the thing that had
people looking my way was my high-pitched scream.

The rest of my beer—that which
wasn’t all over my shirt—sloshed over my arm as I whipped around. Ready to do
serious damage, I looked up into the clear blue of the
Caribbean
.
They eyes sparkled and ignited, catching my look and sucking me in.

That's about the second I went
Gumby. Legs turned to rubber and arms lost feeling. I did a face plant into the
hardest, most exquisitely bumpy check I’ve ever felt! I wondered if those pecks
would glisten in soft light, and if not, I was more than willing to apply oil
to him!

And by him, of course I meant
Apollo.

He grabbed my arms with two large
hands and practically lifted me back into a standing position. Being that he
exerted very little effort, I felt lighter than I did earlier when the other
boys practically fell over me instead of standing me up.

After I was steady, he let me go
and stepped back. The space let me focus, mentally brushing clouds out of my
thoughts. He was every bit as handsome as I remembered. Maybe more so. He was
clean shaven today, but he still gave off a manliness to his better than model
appearance.

“Sorry if I scared you, ma’am. I
always do that it seems.” He fluttered my heart with a gleaming smile.

My under garments got soggy.

“S-sorrn…” I cleared my throat in a
nonchalant kind of way and tried again. “Sorry about your shirt.”

He didn’t bother to look down at
his wet chest. I wasn’t that disciplined. Then I couldn’t look away. I was
right about pecks. His wet shirt accented two famously sculpted masterpieces
that deserved tongue play. Half his stomach was flat and ripped, each ab muscle
defined. The other half wasn’t wet, and I’d run out of beer. Talk about
finishing early!

“It’s all right,” he said in good
humor. “No harm, no foul. I saw you checking out the bulls and thought I would
come over and say ‘hi’. See if you had any questions?”

Will you marry me?

“I thought I saw you earlier near
those big bulls in the corner. Are yours those? I mean, uh, those yours?” I
pointed to the larger five bulls, trying to direct his probing gaze away from
my tomfoolery.

He looked where I was pointing and
then back at me. He spared a glance for my drenched clothes. “Yes, those are
mine. Did you need a shirt? I’m sure I have a spare one in my trailer.”

I looked down at the mess that was
me. I really knew how to make an impression. “Oh no, I’m okay. It will dry in
no time. Thanks, though.”

As soon as the words cleared my
mouth I wanted to punch myself in the face. I just passed up a chance to go
back with him to his trailer!

Trying to keep him here and undo my
stupidity, I asked, “What... Ah, what were you saying about the small bulls?”

He was studying me with a blank
face. I could feel myself flush. I still wasn’t able to look at him without all
my nerves feeling like live wires running through my body. His eyebrows were
black like his hair and a little bushy. Not as bad as Colin Farrell, but it
gave his piercing blue eyes a dramatic depth.

His nose was straight and strong
with high cheek bones and a square jaw. His skin was bronzed, as a sun God
should be. With the breadth of his shoulders and trim waist, I wondered how he
didn’t fall over when he shifted his weight. What’s more, he was a man’s man.
There was a masculine quality about him that made me want to faint at his feet.
Unlike the model and actor boys in
L.A.
,
it was refreshing to meet a man as devastatingly handsome as this without
feeling like he was more woman than I was. If his brother got the looks, that
guy must hurt the eyes.

“The small bulls, yes ma’am.” He
turned his attention to a smallish brindle bull in front of us. “This one here
probably weighs about 1000 - 1500 pounds. There are smaller animals on the
ranch, but this is a small bull for the circuit. The cowboy you were looking at
is young with very little experience. He’s thinking he got lucky today because
of the size. He thinks small means an easy ride.”

I had to bite my tongue so I didn’t
spit out a sexual pun. Instead, I said, “What do you mean by drawing?”

He looked at me in confusion. “Is
this your first rodeo?”

I blushed. “Yes. Sorry, I should
have warned you. Yeah, this is my first one. I wasn’t impressed by the roping
thing.”

He laughed a deep, throaty laugh.
“Was that the reason for the scowl? I wondered why everyone kept looking at
you.” He laughed again.

The world paused as those words
sank in. On one hand, he’d noticed me in the stands! Joy! On the other hand, it
meant I was probably more expressive in my dislike than I thought. Oops!

But he noticed me!

“Probably why they were looking at
me, yeah,” I muttered, hiding my face.

He was still chuckling. “Did anyone
explain why that event is in the rodeo? Everything here has a purpose. Every
event is taken from life on a ranch. Well, except bull riding, maybe. That is
taken from life on the ranch, but of the drunken variety.”

“Someone tried to explain the
roping.”

“The calves aren’t hurt in that
event. No animal is hurt in any of these events. Discomfort sometimes, but not
hurt.”

“How do you know? Have you ever
been running at full speed when someone roped you from behind?” That argument
seemed to work with JP, so I thought I would stick to it.

“Well yes, actually.” He was
smiling. “My brother was training a horse. He’d been working with barrels, but
when he saw me, he decided to go for the live target. I saw him coming and ran
like hell!” He laughed, reliving the moment. “I was nowhere near fast enough.
My brother ran me down, caught both my feet perfectly, pulled and strapped the
rope to Hemlock—that was his horse at the time.

“You see, horses will take
direction, but for something as intricate as chasing down animals, then keeping
the rope taught when you’ve caught one—well, that takes a lot of training and
patience. It’s important to get it right. You gotta make sure you don’t hurt the
calf. To make sure it takes the least amount of time possible. That’s why this
event is timed. The faster the better for this event, and for life on the
ranch.”

By the end, I could see the passion
in his eyes. He cared about this stuff; about daily operations on a ranch,
getting it right and doing it well. I had a feeling it didn’t matter what it
was; if he was doing something, he put his all behind it. I respected that.

I also dipped right back into the
naughty pool. Hard to help myself when standing so close to a freaking hunk.

He held my gaze for a moment,
probably waiting to see if I was following along, before continuing. “Anyway,
my brother’s horse was still being trained, so he wasn’t great at the
discipline of applying just the right amount of pressure. You see, you don’t
want to leave slack, because the calf will get away, possibly hurting itself in
the process. Pull too hard, though, and the little critter is dragged across
the dirt. Also bad. You gotta get it ju-ust right. And Hemlock, my brother’s
horse, didn’t. My brother got my feet, slapped my face in the dirt, then
started dragging’ me across the ranch! So yes ma’am, I certainly know what it’s
like. Can’t say I liked it too well, but it didn’t actually hurt.”

I was again struck dumb by his smile.
All I could manage was, “Hmmmm.”

“Well anyway, about the bulls. Some
of the littler bulls, like this one here, can twist and turn and move around in
ways to buck off the rider. Some of the stronger bulls try to only use their
strength to get the rider off. They don't twist and move all that much because
of their raw power. And mostly, that does work. But all you have to do in that
situation is hold on. Get your strength up, and it’s do-able. Never easy, make
no mistake. But sometimes do-able.”

“So this one isn’t strong, but
wily.”

“Wily?”

“Yeah, wily. Clever.”

He chuckled and put on an English
accent. “Yes, wily is the correct descriptor.”

Definitely educated. But then, with
all that stuff that Candace said, he would have to be, wouldn’t he?

Poo.

“So that kid is going to expect an
easy ride, and get a surprise?”

“I’ll talk to him before then. The
worst thing you can do in bull riding is ever expect an easy ride. Even the
smallest bulls can give you a jolt. You always have to be prepared or you can
really get hurt. You’ll see later. These animals seem like they can’t move all
that fast now because of their size, but you’ll be surprised at their temper
and how fast they move when pushed.”

“Yeah, I gotta friend like that.
So, your beasts are the raw power, just hang on, variety?”

His eyes squinted as he looked at
me, a frown creeping into the contours of his face. He glanced toward his
bulls, but without actually seeing them. Something was bothering him.

Before I could backtrack, or even
figure out which part of the conversation I inserted my foot, he started
walking toward his bull pen. A slight shake of head had his anxiety melting, a
mischievous look taking over. Naturally I followed.

“I bread that stock myself,” he
said as we neared. “Animal breeding is a hobby of mine. They have power, yes.
But they have their share of wily as well. You can’t never tell which direction
they’re gonna turn. The biggest bull,” he pointed to a giant black bull almost
my height, “can turn directions so fast, and with so much force, you get
whipped off and hope your arm came with you. He’s a mean one.”