by Savanna Fox
“Women compete?” she asked Marielle, who sat on her left.
“Only in barrel racing.”
Women raced barrels? What was that all about?
Watching, Kim stretched, the sun warm on her head and shoulders. The air was hot and dusty with an unfamiliar earthy note that must come from the horses.
This was actually kind of interesting. Not to mention visually very different from her normal experience as the horses, riders, and waving banners wove around each other making ever-changing patterns. Creativity fed on a variety of stimuli. She nudged Marielle with her shoulder. “I’m glad you suggested this.”
Marielle’s eyes danced. “And you haven’t even laid eyes on Blake Longfeather yet.”
“Who?”
“Here.” The other woman opened her program. “He was last year’s bareback bronc champion. Isn’t he incredible?”
Kim glanced over. Oh my. This was the stuff of fantasies!
The top of the page featured a cowboy on a golden-colored horse that had its front hooves on the ground and its back hooves so high in the air it was almost vertical. One of the cowboy’s hands gripped something attached to the horse, his other hand was raised in the air, and his hat was flying off. Insane, yes, but hot.
So was the head shot below. “Yummy.” Blake Longfeather had bronzed skin, black hair, carved features, and a half smile. “This is how I imagine Dirk Zamora looking.”
“I know, right? And Blake’s riding today!”
The afternoon was definitely looking up.
In the ring, the horses and riders lined up down the middle while the announcer talked about rodeo sponsors. Kim gazed from rider to rider, looking for Blake Longfeather, then stopped abruptly.
Here was another cowboy worth looking at. Tall and lean in the saddle, he wore a sage green shirt with a Wrangler logo, and a beige hat rested rakishly atop streaky blondish brown hair. His skin was tanned, his features strong, his smile captivating. His horse was attractive too, sand-colored with a darker face and a black mane and tail. The pair made a pretty picture.
She couldn’t wait to see this guy compete.
Three
The first event was called tie-down roping. The announcer was explaining how it worked, but the sound system wasn’t great and Kim didn’t catch it all.
“Here.” Marielle opened the program to a new page. “There’s a summary of each event.”
Kim and George, seated on either side of her, leaned in to read. The basic idea was clear: the cowboy had to rope the calf then jump off his horse, run down the rope, throw the calf to the ground, and tie three of its legs together—and the horse had to hold the rope taut while the cowboy did it. There were other rules, like the calf couldn’t already be down on the ground, and the tie around the legs had to hold for six seconds.
When Kim passed the program to Lily, the blonde waved it away. “I read it online.”
“And memorized it?” Kim teased.
“I like to be prepared.”
“The first rider’s ready.” George’s voice turned everyone’s attention back to the arena.
When the brown calf ran out of its chute, a rider in hot pursuit, Kim saw the rules in action. The cowboy could have been demonstrating how it should be done.
The announcer said that the contestant had set things off to a great start with a score of 9.5 seconds.
“Look.” Lily pointed to a display screen at the other end of the arena. “There’s the rider’s name and his score.”
Kim noted that it said the rider was from Alberta. “He’s come a long way.”
Marielle flipped through her program again, to a black-and-white insert.
Kim now saw that the glossy program was generic, while the insert related to this weekend’s rodeo. It listed all the events, the contestants, and where they were from. For the bronc and bull riding events, it even gave the names of the animals—or stock, as she realized they were referred to.
There were lots of Alberta riders, several from BC, a few from other parts of Canada, and a bunch from the States. A number of riders had come all the way from Texas, and there were even a couple from Australia. “Wow, this is a big deal.”
“I think it’s a way of life,” Marielle said. “I guess especially in Alberta and Texas. Blake Longfeather is from Texas.”
The next contestant’s rope missed the calf’s head, and the third guy had trouble throwing the calf and getting it tied, so his time wasn’t very good.
The next rider came into the arena—and it was the handsome cowboy on the sand-colored horse. Kim glanced at the display board. Ty Ronan, and he was from the Fraser Valley. Virtually a hometown boy.
She’d noticed that before the contestants competed, they rode around swinging their ropes, warming up, and that’s what Ty was doing. He looked so easy and agile in the saddle. As he removed his hat to run a hand through sun-streaked light brown hair, a grin that looked like pure pleasure crossed his strong, tanned features.
Oh my! Kim smiled approvingly and nudged Marielle. “I’d match him against your Blake.” Maybe it was because every Chinese guy had black hair like her own, but there was something about a man with sunlit hair she found very attractive.
“Mmm, he’s nice, but I’ll stick with Blake. You can have that one, girl,” Marielle teased.
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” Though, if she fantasized about sex under the stars tonight, it might be with this guy.
Hat back on his head, the cowboy entered his chute.
Knowing it was silly, she crossed her fingers and held her breath.
Ty Ronan, a ring of rope in his mouth, nodded, the signal to release the calf. The brown and white animal shot out of the chute, horse and rider on its heels. A quick whip of the rope, and the loop settled neatly over the calf’s neck. In the same instant—maybe even before—Ty was on the ground as his tan horse backed away from the calf, tightening the rope. In a quick movement, the cowboy pitted his weight against the calf’s and tossed it deftly, almost gently, then he whipped the rope around its legs. His hand shot up, and he was on his feet again.
Kim cheered along with the rest of the crowd, her whole body heating the same way it had when she read that sex scene by the river. Okay, fine, Dirk Zamora and Ty Ronan had convinced her, “erotic” and “cowboy” could go together very nicely indeed. If cowboy Ty wanted to take her to bed right now, she wouldn’t toss him out for being dusty and sweaty.
She suppressed a giggle. No, she was being silly. Of course she wouldn’t sleep with a stranger. But, mmm, what a delicious fantasy to explore later tonight, home in her bed.
The riders who would untie the calf held back. Kim knew everyone was counting the six seconds. Then the cowboys moved forward and released the calf, which hopped to its feet and trotted in a beeline toward the exit gate, clearly knowing its role. The announcer called a number: 8.4. The crowd cheered louder, clapping vigorously. This was a timed event where the quicker you were, the better.
Ty removed his hat again and waved it in acknowledgment, giving an even wider smile. Kim couldn’t tear her gaze off that handsome smiling face, that rangy body, but she heard Marielle say, “Hey, 8.4 sounds really good.”
“Like you know anything about this,” George teased from her other side. “But I will say, you and Kim have good taste in men. Almost as good as mine.”
The next rider, red-haired and red-shirted, warmed up, but Kim’s eyes followed Ty. He joined other contestants in a waiting area, taking a back slap and an arm punch from a couple of guys.
Her gaze still on the attractive cowboy as he stroked his horse and chatted with the other riders, her body throbbing with lust, she was barely aware of the next contestant’s ride until cheers drew her attention. Yes, this man had successfully roped his calf. His score—8.9—made her grin smugly.
There were a few more competitors, and only two were successful. Sadly, one—a stocky blond guy who looked a few years younger than Ty—got an 8.3.
No on
e could top Ty in the looks department, though. She watched him as all the contestants rode back along the side of the ring to the exit. His body moved so easily in the saddle, and he and his pretty horse made a great picture. Marielle had teased her about silk-screening cowboys on T-shirts. Now she could almost imagine doing it.
She could imagine lots more than art. Marielle was right. Watching a cowboy’s body in natural synch with his horse could make you imagine his body moving with yours during sex. Making you wet and riding you hard, the brunette joked. And yeah, the wet part was true, even just from watching Ty.
As for riding her hard—well, she’d never had that kind of sex. Making love had always been . . . pleasant. Not hard, not visceral. If she’d had sex like that with Henry, she might not have broken up.
When Ty’s back disappeared, she sighed and refocused on the ring. A miked clown bantered with the announcer up in the booth, filling time during setup of the next event.
Kim borrowed the program and leafed through it. Ty Ronan wasn’t listed in the glossy generic program where she’d seen Blake Longfeather, which meant he hadn’t been last year’s Canadian champion in any of the events. Too bad: no photo. Next she turned to the event schedule, searching for his name then sighing in disappointment that he wasn’t in any other afternoon events. She wouldn’t have minded more fuel for her cowboy fantasies.
She flipped to the evening schedule and there he was, listed for bareback bronc riding along with Blake Longfeather. Maybe she wouldn’t bail early after all.
Marielle said, “I wish they’d hurry up. Blake Longfeather’s in the next event, saddle bronc riding.” She gave an impatient wriggle. “He’s really versatile. Tonight he’s in bareback bronc riding, and tomorrow he’s bull riding.”
“I can see it already,” George teased. “You’re coming back tomorrow, right?”
Marielle chuckled. “You’re assuming I’m not going to hook up with him tonight and stay over?”
And there was the difference between the two of them. Though Kim occasionally envied Marielle’s spontaneity and fun attitude, she could never be like her. Kim might stay to watch Ty tonight, get wet over him again, and fantasize about hooking up with him, but she’d never act on it. She looked at men in terms of the future, which meant a Hong Kong guy who got along with her parents.
“Oh, look!” Marielle screeched.
A black horse leaped out of the chute, bucking and spinning, doing its best to unseat the rider. The horse won. The rider went flying, to roll in the dust and quickly rise, apparently uninjured, as a couple of other riders chased after the still-bucking horse.
“Insane, and tough,” Kim commented. Why would someone risk being tossed through the air to land any which way, then possibly be hit by a flying hoof? “What a crazy way to make a living.”
If they even did make a living. A lot of the ropers had missed their calves, and she guessed a fair number of bronc riders got tossed. How could you make money like this? What a precarious career.
Was that how her parents viewed her own desire for an art career? If so, she’d prove them wrong.
The next bronc and cowboy burst out of a chute. Her breath caught as she willed the rider to stay on. And when he did, she cheered.
Next up was Marielle’s crush, Blake Longfeather. He rode a madly bucking chestnut horse, stayed on, and scored 80.5, better than the rider before him.
Kim studied him closely. Yeah, he was a strong, striking guy, but for her he wasn’t the stuff of fantasies. That honor went to the rangy guy with sunlit hair and an infectious smile.
* * *
A couple of hours later, Kim was on overload. She’d seen skills and thrills, from team ropers to female barrel racers, from steer wrestlers to men who rode bulls bareback.
Even if she didn’t understand the fine points of rodeo, it was exciting. Primitive and raw. Utterly physical. Full of drama. Scary too.
And sexy, when her own cowboy crush appeared in the ring again on his tan horse, in the steer wrestling event. He didn’t compete, but acted as what the announcer called a hazer. It was his job to keep the steer running in a straight line for the contestant who had to jump off his horse onto it and topple it to the ground.
Kim had watched Ty, not the contestant. It reminded her of how, in Ride Her, Cowboy, photojournalist Marty’d kept her gaze and her camera trained on Dirk. She’d had the excuse that he was the subject of her story. Kim had no excuse, and didn’t care. She was having fun, she was turned on, and she was building a store of images that her vivid imagination could draw on for erotic fantasies.
After the last afternoon event, the four women climbed down the bleachers. Marielle asked, “Who else is staying for tonight’s rodeo?”
“I’m in,” Kim said, and George and Lily agreed.
The scent of the food stalls drew them, and they decided the day called for hot dogs and mini donuts. They took a ride on the Ferris wheel, and Kim and Marielle, both boasting strong stomachs, also went on the Tilt-a-Whirl. They poked their heads into 4-H tents with every kind of animal imaginable, and salivated over fruit pies, jams, and other goodies entered in the cooking competition.
In the arcade, Marielle tossed balls to whack down a row of ducks. When she won a big stuffed panda, she gave it to a cute brown-haired girl who had tossed balls beside her and only hit one duck.
“That’s nice of you,” Kim commented.
“I have my eye on the bigger prize. I’m out to bag a cowboy.”
“Just how do you plan to do that?” Lily asked dryly.
Kim expected a joking response, but Marielle laid out an actual plan. Turned out, she’d chatted in the ladies’ room with a barrel racer, who said most of the competitors didn’t go to the dance on the fairgrounds after the competition ended. Lots headed back to their own RVs or trailers, or to motel rooms, and some went out for a beer together.
“I told her about my crush,” Marielle said cheerfully. “Guess she liked me, or she thought Blake Longfeather might like me. She said he’s at the Wagon Wheel Motel, same as her and her husband, who’s a bull rider. She also said he’d probably be shooting pool in the closest country and western bar.”
“Where’s the Wagon Wheel Motel?” Kim asked.
“Found it on my smartphone, and I Yelped the nearest pubs. There’s one across the street, so I’ll start there. Coming with me?”
“I’ll see how I feel after the rodeo,” Kim said. Ty Ronan wasn’t likely to be at the bar. He was local, so would just go home.
George and Lily agreed, and they all headed back to find seats in the stands.
As they watched the first evening events, dusk began to fall and big lights came on, illuminating the arena. The lighting changed the atmosphere, making it a little less real, more glamorous and Hollywoodish.
But it was real. Those winces were real, when contestants who’d been thrown dragged themselves to their feet and tottered to the exit. Why did they do it? Some looked no more than eighteen; others had to be forty or older. Did they see this as a sport, or was it a performance? Did they do it for the physical challenge or the money?
Finally, it was time for the fourth event, the one she’d been waiting for: bareback bronc riding. The schedule showed Blake Longfeather as the fifth of twelve riders, and Ty Ronan as the eighth.
Eight seconds, she mused, as the third rider took an inglorious tumble. To travel from Texas, as this cowboy had, just to hit the dirt after a few seconds—or to survive the full eight, if he was lucky.
The fourth rider managed to stay aboard a wildly twisting, bucking horse, and got the top score so far, an 82. Then Blake rode, his horse a dark brown one. It bucked pretty much in a straight line, and the cowboy rode dramatically and stuck on until the end, then with the assistance of one of the pickup riders, slipped off and to the ground.
His score was posted as an 80.5, which put him in second place. Marielle hissed. “That’s not fair.”
Anticipation building, Kim sat impatiently through the nex
t two rides—one a fall, and one a score lower than Blake’s—then the announcer said that the next rider, in chute two, was Ty Ronan. Though Kim couldn’t catch all the words, she did hear that he’d been champion at the Calgary Stampede, and top all-around cowboy at some other event. He was not only handsome, but a winner.
“Hey,” Marielle said, “isn’t that the guy you’re hot for?”
“Is it?” she asked innocently, peering toward the chute. She saw Ty’s beige cowboy hat and a slice of green shirt as he leaned down, doing something with the horse he’d be riding. The horse’s name, she noted, was Dirt Devil.
The man responsible for opening the gate got ready, and a second later the horse burst out. Kim crossed her fingers, staring intently. The horse was pretty, gray and white with a white mane and tail, but—ouch!—it bucked and whirled like crazy. Ty’s hat sailed off, but somehow he hung on, raking the horse’s shoulders as she’d read that riders were supposed to do.
From the row above her in the stands, a woman said to her husband, “Lord, that horse is rank.”
The couple had exchanged comments during the previous events, and seemed to know what they were talking about. She crossed her fingers even tighter for Ty. Why did he have to draw the nasty horse?
It seemed like forever until the eight seconds buzzer went off, but the horse wasn’t listening. It kept on bucking fiercely, moving across the arena as pickup riders tried to approach. Still Ty clung to it, for what had to be at least another eight seconds, and now Kim clenched her fingernails into her palms, hoping he made it off safely. Finally, one of the pickup riders got close enough and Ty freed his hand from the grip and slid off, resting briefly against the other horse then dropping to the ground.
She joined the rest of the audience in cheering and clapping.
He looked so great, bending that athletic body to pick up his hat, which he dusted off then waved toward the crowd. God, he had the sexiest smile. The sexiest, strongest body. What would it be like to make love with a man like that, for just once in her life? Damn it, the closest she would ever come was reading Ride Her, Cowboy, and imagining Ty Ronan in the place of Dirk Zamora, riding her, not Marty Westerbrook.
