“Pfft,” Georgia said. “Last week was a rip-off. I won and barely got out of there with anything since the idiot we have running this thing said each division had to give up profit to fix the Ferris wheel.”
“Yeah, but he’s going to pay you what he would owe you every week, bit by bit,” I said, having become familiar with the situation because of my friendship with Macy.
“Honey, the day you start taking what a promoter says at face value is the day you might as well get ‘sucker’ tattooed on your forehead in giant pink letters,” she said.
I laughed, mostly at how she said it. Georgia was one of the more naturally funny people I knew. She responded to me telling her that piece of information that she saw me as one of the more naturally headstrong people she’d ever met. At the time, I couldn’t decide if that was an insult or a compliment, and I still hadn’t made up my mind yet. Georgia, for her part, never seemed to get hot at me over anything, even when I beat her soundly, which was happening more often lately.
“When are you up?” I asked.
“I have fourth. You?”
“Sixth,” I said. “Good luck out there. Tell me how the dirt is.”
She nodded. The dirt was the most important part of our preparations, and both of us knew it. Barrel racing was about speed and precision, and if you hit a patch of dirt that was too hard, it could be harder to turn on. A patch that was too soft could create mud and trip your horse up. Sharp turns required decent dirt, and many cloverleaf patterns were ruined by poor dirt or loose sand or wet mud. Georgia and I had a deal that whichever one of us drew first, they would give heads-up about the quality of the arena to the other.
Considering I was sixth, I had a few minutes to center myself before I was going to be mounting up. It was more difficult going in sixth place than it was first or second or even near the bottom. When you were up really early, you just got hyped and stayed hyped for the entirety of the competitions. When you were near the end, you could let the intensity build slowly, watching the crowd, taking notes on the track, seeing where your competitors ranked so you knew what you had to beat. But in the middle, you were stuck. You had to get ready earlier but not too fast. You got some feedback but not much.
I walked Renegade back toward the staging area. Eventually, I would mount up and trot a few circles before getting up to speed. Then I’d head down the short hallway of railing and out onto the arena when the emcee called my name. Or my riding name at least. They weren’t going to announce Leah Mason going out there. They were announcing my persona, my alter ego, Leah Lightning.
I’d earned that name. I’d earned it by hitting numbers that girls hadn’t hit in a long time on some of these circuits.
Dropping down into the low fourteens was a semi-regular occurrence. That was national-championship competitive. Breaking the fourteen-second mark was a goal and one I had come tantalizingly close to a number of times.
If a person could place in the thirteens, that was the stuff professional careers were made of, ones where the rodeo didn’t need a circus with it and they didn’t stop in towns where the entire population wasn’t enough to fill all the benches.
As much as I loved this tour in particular, primarily because Macy was the coordinator, I had eyes on making sure people knew who I was, and that meant bigger competitions than these. At twenty-eight, I still had some time to make that happen, and I felt like I was getting better and better all the time.
It was only a matter of time before I got an invite to one of the big shows. Then the prize money wouldn’t be subject to ticket sales or the whims of a huckster promoter who handed you a blank envelope and then let you decide if you were going to contest the contents or not.
While waiting for my turn, I joked around with a few of the other competitors I was friendly with. Really, outside of Kyle, I was friendly with everyone.
All the other barrel-race competitors were other women, mostly either younger than me or my age. A couple of the middle-aged riders came along for tours when they felt like it, and I was always amazed to see them just pick up the reins like time hadn’t passed and put the young ones to shame.
Renegade was getting excited as the races began. He knew what was about to happen and I felt like he enjoyed it as much or more than I did. He tossed his mane in excitement as I mounted him, and the roar of the crowd built when Georgia took her run. I was slowly trotting Renegade around when she came back through, shooting me a thumbs-up before letting her horse slowly calm down. Not all the way though. There were more races to be had.
The crowd out there knew me already. I had been here a couple of times before and always had a good day. It was in Bevelbrook that I had my first win years ago. Since then, I had come at least a couple of times a year on this circuit or one of the other two I picked up occasionally. Outside of one day where I hit the far barrel twice and one other where I raced with a fever and just flat out wasn’t good, I always had a good time. So did Renegade.
Nothing bonded me more to my horse than racing. Nothing bonded me more to the crowd like riding Renegade like we were a bat out of hell. Nothing bonded me more to my own self than winning.
As the fifth rider, a young girl named Katie, came down the hallway and back to the pen, I ramped up speed on Renegade. He clicked into gear immediately, and when the emcee cleared his throat to announce my name, we were rounding the last corner.
“Next is Bevelbrook favorite and six-time Bevelbrook Barrel Buster champion Leah Lightning, riding her trusty steed, Renegade!”
A roar came up from the stands as I bolted down the hallway to the sound of my name, and when we shot through the gates, it was less than a second before we passed the laser line from the machine that delineated where the start and finish was. It was a far cry from the old man that used to raise and lower flags.
We hit the first corner and banked hard, but Renegade knew how to handle it. I barely had to do any work until the last turn. Renegade made the cloverleaf look easy—and me look good. When we got to the last turn, I held the reins out to the side and shifted my weight. Renegade responded, not taking too wide a turn around and getting the back hooves down quick to pivot.
It felt fast. It felt really fast.
As we made the long stretch back toward the finish line, I refused to look at the timer on the scoreboard. If I did, I would jinx it. I just had to ride him as hard as possible past the line.
When we passed it, I was aware of some general shouting and some muffled words from the emcee. People in the pen were cheering, and I turned Renegade back so I could catch a glimpse of the scoreboard.
Fourteen point zero one.
So close.
So close.
Chapter 3
Colt
She was gorgeous. So was the horse.
It was like something out of a dream, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. For fourteen seconds, she barnstormed in like a shot from a cannon and rode the cloverleaf with skill, precision, and fire, then zoomed out.
Her blonde hair billowed out from beneath her hat, but she wasn’t one of those “show women,” the ones who caked on mountains of makeup and bright red lipstick to mask themselves as a character. She looked like she barely wore any makeup at all.
She was built to ride, too. It was plain to see she wasn’t waifish in any respect, but the curve of her backside as it bounced in the saddle stirred feelings deep in my belly I was utterly surprised by. How on earth did a woman who looked like her end up in a circuit like this?
And that horse looked like something off the poster of a sixteen-year-old girl’s bedroom. Black as night and glossy and muscular, it was graceful and fast and looked like it was as comfortable trotting as it was running at top speed. As long as it had Leah Lightning on its back, it could and would do anything.
The crowd erupted for her. Apparently, she was a known commodity in Bevelbrook, which made me wonder how I had missed this particular rodeo circuit before.
They stood on their feet when h
er name was called, whooped and hollered her whole run, and cheered when the timer shot up with just over fourteen seconds. Hell, I cheered when the timer showed fourteen seconds. That was good enough to win some of the barrel races in the major league competitions sometimes.
And she looked like she was just warming up.
I suddenly noticed that there were people in the crowd with signs. Little girls with homemade poster boards with a drawing of Leah on it or encouraging messages. I instantly understood it too. In just fourteen seconds, this gorgeous creature had ridden in and completely short-circuited my brain.
I woke up after she shot back into the hallway gate, sitting on the edge of my seat, hearing my own voice cheering. I distinctly remembered saying “hot damn” and pumping my fist, even though I didn’t recall giving my body that instruction at all.
The crowd was absolutely wild over her, and it electrified the rodeo in a way that none of the other competitors could come close too. When the final riders did their turns around the barrels, the result was clear. Leah Lightning won in a blowout. It wasn’t even close. The next fastest rider was nearly sixteen seconds. Leah Lightning had beaten them by almost two whole seconds. It was beyond impressive.
I leaned back against the bench behind me and took another deep sip of the beer. There were a few other barrel-riding competitions to come, including a multi-round championship later in the evening. I looked down at the beer cup and shrugged. I wanted to see that girl again, and that meant I’d be here for a while. If I was going to be there for a while, I might as well have something to eat and another beer to go with it.
Thankfully the beer garden was a short walk from the rodeo arena, and there was a pulled-pork-barbeque stand right by it. I could hear the emcee inside as the bands had finished up, and I kept my ear out for Leah. It seemed like they were going in the same order as before, and I hurried to grab my food in time to get back in.
It hit me that I had never before acted like this when watching rodeo competitions. Never had I rushed a snack run to make sure I didn’t miss a single second of someone competing, much less a girl, and a girl doing barrel-riding competition.
It was so foreign and strange. I was used to women doing everything they could to not miss a second of my rides, but it had never been the other way around.
I got back to my seat just in time to see her second competition, a judged ride, and she nailed it. As the rest of the evening wore on, she appeared multiple times, placing in the top three in all of them, and first most. I was completely impressed and couldn’t wipe the grin off my face when the excitement began to build for the round-based timed rides. She was sixth again, and as each rider took their turns, the electricity in the stands was building to a fever pitch. Even I was standing when the fifth rider went back down the hall, and the crowd began to chant for “Lightning.”
It reminded me of when I would ride and the crowd would chant “Colt.” That was a feeling a person never forgot. It never got old. It never wore thin.
Every single time the crowd said your name, it was like pumping pure energy directly into your veins. Confidence and swagger built with every call, and by the end of the night, you felt like you could lasso the moon and ride it around the universe.
Leah was mesmerizing, and I couldn’t help but be taken by her. She was so sure of herself and her connection to her horse that it was as if they were a machine, a unit. Together, they stormed onto the ground and bent physics to their will, somehow moving a fifteen-hundred-pound horse around like it was a pricey sports car on a twisty road.
She took minimal loops to cut time, but her horse never stopped, never double-stepped or stumbled. She brushed so close to the barrels that it was like she kissed them, daring them to fall. They never did.
She rode flawlessly despite the laws of nature. She was a law of nature. Leah Lightning was like the good lord above created the perfect cowgirl and set her loose in a low-level circuit to delight the masses.
A family beside me seemed to be particularly familiar with her, and I overheard them talking about the “last time” she was there, as if they saw her regularly and knew her personally. My curiosity was piqued. I scooted over a little closer and waited until a lull in the conversation before making a move.
“Hey there,” I said. “My name’s Colt.” I held out my hand.
The father reached over and shook. “Carl. Carl Williams. This is my wife, Tina.”
“Nice to meet you two,” I said. “I couldn’t help but overhear you guys talking about Leah Lightning.”
“Hell yeah,” Carl said. “She’s our favorite. She’s been competing in this rodeo for a few years now, and she just keeps getting better.”
“She’s awesome,” Tina said. “If I hadn’t been a fan of her first, I’d swear Carl had a crush on her.”
He grinned and I laughed.
“I’m not the one who came home all excited when they saw the signs for the rodeo,” he muttered, still grinning.
“No, that was me,” Tina said, laughing. “Seriously, she is fantastic. She’s come a long way since that first time we saw her. Heck, she’s come a long way since the last time she was here.”
“Really?” I asked. I had never seen a woman ride like her. It was hard to believe she wasn’t just born on the back of a horse for how well she handled the competition.
Tina nodded. “Yeah, she’s been getting faster and faster on the timed rounds. Damn near breaking fourteen seconds. I expect her last run is going to be all out for it. But her other competitions have gotten better too.”
“She’s gone from not even placing to maybe winning tonight,” Carl said. “Just the last time she was here, she wasn’t that good. She is one hell of a cowgirl.”
“Yes she is,” I said, partially to myself. “You know, I go to a lot of rodeos all over and I’ve never heard of her. Does she only do this circuit?”
“I’m not sure,” Carl said. “We don’t get out of town much, so we usually only see these folk when they roll through once or twice a year. But she’s been here every time since the first time we saw her, so my guess is she pretty much works with them exclusively.”
“She is fearless out there,” I said. “I bet she could make some real money doing the big name competitions if she tried.”
“Oh, for sure,” Tina said. “She’s Leah Lightning. She could beat anybody.”
“She damn near only competes with herself as it is,” Carl said.
“Do y’all know anything else about her? Where she’s from?” I couldn’t help asking. I needed to know more about this mystery woman. She was so intriguing that I wouldn’t be satisfied until I figured out a way to contact her.
“Not much,” Carl said. “She’s a real sweet girl, but she doesn’t talk about herself like that from what we know of her. You might be able to ask her yourself, though.”
“Oh?” I asked. “How’s that?”
Carl looked to his wife, who nodded with a grin. “See, there’s this bar just on the outskirt of town. Technically it’s in the next county over, and they aren’t dry after midnight like we are. It’s called The Pit Stop, and they have a rather loose approach to last call, if you know what I mean. When things at the rodeo are all done, a bunch of them end up stopping by down there. Rumor is, she’s going to be there tonight too.”
“Is that so?” I asked. “The Pit Stop.”
“Yup,” Carl said. “I have a friend whose brother’s wife’s brother works there part time and he said they got a call warning them a big crowd would be coming tonight.”
I chuckled at the grapevine information. As silly as it was, it was probably accurate. Rumors and gossip spread in small towns like wildfire, and information on where a big party would be probably spread about as fast as everything else. Especially in a town that was as damned boring as Bevelbrook.
Maybe one day I would change my mind about that town, especially since it brought me into the path of Leah Lightning, but until then, I felt like maintaining the low op
inion of the area was warranted and justified.
“The Pit Stop,” I repeated to a nodding Carl and Tina. “I think I might drop by there on my way out of town. Will you folks be there?”
“No,” Tina said, patting her belly. “No bars for me for a while.”
“Oh, congratulations,” I said. “That’s exciting!”
“What’s really exciting is what we were thinking about naming her,” Carl said, looking at me with a twinkle in his eye. “If she gets here early, I am bound and determined to call her Leah.”
“I might allow it,” Tina said. “There are worse people to be named after. Like your aunt.”
“Aunt Bethel is a wonderful lady,” Carl said. “Just because she said you were the embodiment of the devil doesn’t mean she isn’t. She’s just old and set in her ways and doesn’t particularly care for women that wear jeans.”
“How do you think she will react when we tell her we named our daughter after a literal cowgirl?” she asked him, teasing.
“What makes you think I will tell her?” he retorted. “As far as she will know, we had a child named Ruth.”
I laughed and shook my head, thanking them for the information. My attention went back to the competitions, and when Leah came out for her last run, she ended the night on the highest of notes. And the lowest of numbers.
Thirteen point nine-nine.
Chapter 4
Leah
The last of the awards were announced and I took my victory lap with the other winners around the arena. After that, I dismounted and signed a few autographs for little kids. Some of them had brought signs with my name on them. It was overwhelming and sweet and incredible, but I tried not to let it get to my head.
I came to Bevelbrook pretty often. I was like a local star for them, but I had to remember that didn’t mean I was a big shot. Not yet at least. A little shot.
Maybe that could be my next nickname.
His Sexy Smile Page 2
