by BA Tortuga
“I miss you, cowboy.” He never let himself say it, but God knew he meant it.
“I miss you too. It’s a deep down hurt now I’ve been near you again.” Curtis hummed, the sound intensely sexual. Needy.
“Yes. Like I know now, how good it is.” He whispered the words, not out of shame, but because this was so raw.
“Right. We were so young before. Now we know what we’re missing, damn it.”
That surprised a laugh out of him, the sound loud and raucous. He stared up at the roof of the trailer, his body warming some at the thought of what they’d gotten up to before Curtis left.
Curtis laughed with him, sounding happier than he had at the start of the call.
“What’s your plan for tomorrow?” He listened to Curtis ramble, closing his eyes as he let himself live vicariously, pretend that his world wasn’t fixin’ to come tumbling down.
It wasn’t perfect, but he’d take what he could get.
Chapter Twelve
“YOU’RE UP, Traynor!” The chute boss waved a clipboard at chute four, where a big, rawboned roan mare waited for his happy ass.
Of all his rides this week, he was dreading this one the most. Gale Force was a hell of a bucker, and his neck could only take so much more bareback.
Still, this was where he was in the money. This could keep him up there where he needed to be.
God help him, he wanted this bad. He wanted to win this bitch and then go home to his Stetson.
The thought was hard and fast and rang in him.
Curtis blinked but headed over to the chute. Two riders were set to go before him, but his rigging was in place, and they moved quick this late in the week.
“Good ride, cowboy.” Old Vick grinned at him, half his teeth gone along with four of his fingers.
“Yep.” He nodded shortly. No one would accuse him of being rude. Curtis zipped his vest, then adjusted his neck roll.
Please God, eight seconds. I need eight seconds and to mark out.
Curtis stepped up to the chute, grabbing the top rail. He took a deep breath, then grinned wildly. “Okay, lady. You. Me. Good score.”
She rolled her eyes at him, but she knew her job, and she was daring him to do his. Her ears flicked, signaling readiness, and he climbed over the rail, Tim Halloway there to keep him from pulling a Pecos Bill’s girlfriend. What was her name, anyway?
He got his legs set, his spurs above the shoulders. “Let’s do this.”
Curtis nodded, and the world set to rocking.
Gale Force leaped out, and he marked up on her shoulders until she began to buck four strides later. When she did, she went textbook, head down, back feet so high she could have kicked the moon.
He was either going to die or this ride was going to break records.
Curtis gritted his teeth, reaching back and up with his free arm, keeping the elbow bent on the other to hold the rigging.
“Come on,” he bellowed. “Kick, you nag!”
For a half second, Curtis knew he was fixin’ to go cartwheeling, but he stuck like a burr, and when that buzzer sounded, his happy ass was looking for a safety man—Nobert or James. He gave no shits.
The mare got real mad once the whistle went off, running along the fence line, and he got the feeling she was about to try to scrape him off. There. Pick-up man.
Of course, about the time he reached for that fast-moving man on horseback, Gale flipped her back feet up, sending him ass over teakettle.
Curtis landed so hard he felt himself rattle, heard it as his bones tried to find different places.
The crowd was roaring, so he climbed to his feet and took off his hat, waved it in the air. The scoreboard showed his score, which he’d missed with the bad get off. Eighty-two.
Goddamn.
“I hope you saw that, Roper. I hope you were watching.”
He limped out of the arena, listening to announcer Dallas Ray shout him out. “Curtis Traynor for eighty-two points! That’s a go-round winner, folks, and might just sew up Traynor’s all-around win!”
Oh, praise God and Greyhound. He waved his hat again, then headed back. He needed to sit. He needed to breathe. He needed to see if it was true, if he was that close to taking the big purse.
Miles waited for him at the gate, pounding him on the back. “I think you got it, buddy.”
“Math ain’t your strong suit, Miles.”
“Yeah, yeah. You need sport medicine?”
“Huh? Nah. I just need to sit—”
“Traynor. Get your ass back here and get your checkup.”
Right. Sports medicine wasn’t taking no for an answer. They always worried too much.
“Lord, Pete, you’re a bossy fuck.”
“I got nothing on Doc.”
“True.” He creaked back behind the chutes, grinning at the paramedic who doubled as Doc’s assistant. “I’m not hurt, just shook.”
“Let me feel better about it by looking. That was a great ride, man.”
“Thanks.” They did the handshake man-hug thing. He’d known Pete for ten years, at least. “Might have done the job.”
“God knows you worked for it.” Pete shone a light in his eyes. “Pupils look good.”
“It’s my spine, not my skull,” Curtis teased. “Landed so hard on my tail I jostled my insides.”
“Anything hurting in particular?”
“Just my ass.” He winked, but it was true enough.
“Tailbone?” Pete was a smart man.
“Yeah. She bucked that last time and down I went.”
“Come on all the way back and let me look. I promise not to get too personal.”
Yeah, Stetson might just get grumpy about that. He followed dutifully, though, because Stetson would also get miffed if his ass was broken.
“Good ride, Traynor!” Folks were cheering him on, waving to him, all the way to sports medicine, where Bonner Nelson was lying there, arm at an awful angle.
“Well, shit, Bonner, you trying to get out of putting up the Christmas tree for your new wife?”
“How’d you guess?” Lord, that had to hurt. Bonner had pure agony written on his face.
“I know how lazy you are. Anyone go to get your lady?”
“No. I mean, I called her, but she’s gonna meet me at the hospital. I don’t want her seeing this. She’ll see me once it’s in a splint or a cast or whatever.”
“Yeah. Jesus. They calling an ambulance?”
“They are. Andy had to get carted out earlier, so they had to call in another one.” Bonner arched up off the gurney. “Christ.”
“Let me give you something, Bonner,” Pete grumbled. “Please?”
“I ain’t gonna tell a soul, cowboy. I swear.” Curtis knew that kind of pain. He’d broken his pelvis once, and thought he might keel over every time he moved.
“Okay. Okay, yeah.” Bonner looked like he was gonna die.
“Just hang tight, Traynor. Let me help Bonner out.”
“I’m good.” He grabbed a doughnut doolie to sit on and settled in to call Stetson.
“You did it! Cowboy, you showed that mare!” Stetson’s voice sounded so good to him.
“Right? She was trying to trip me up.” He glanced at Bonner and said a little “there but by the grace of God” prayer.
“You landed hard. You okay? I saw they grabbed you from sports medicine.”
“That’s where I am. I landed hard. Just a precaution, though. Checking my tailbone.”
“Ouch. I had a horse break mine three years ago. That’s tender.”
“I don’t think anything popped, but I might be shorter.” He lowered his voice. “That won’t be a turnoff, right?”
“I promise not to even notice.”
“I like how you think.” He knew he was a banty rooster. Good thing Stetson didn’t mind.
“One more ride, huh? You ride one more bronc and you’ve got it done, no question.” That was his Roper, working the numbers. Stetson would say he was stupid, but Curtis knew bett
er.
“Yep. His heeler missed in round three, and his calf came free in round five, so I bet he can’t catch me. I’m pulling out of the bull riding and just doing saddle bronc.”
“Good deal. Saddle is your sweet spot. Just don’t break your butt no more.”
“Nope. I promise. My butt will be ready.”
“Promises, promises.” Stetson chuckled, the sound so weirdly tired.
“What’s up with you, Roper? How’s Miz Betty?”
“I’m okay. Tired today.”
“Yeah? I’m sorry, babe.” He was. He wished there was more he could do, but he’d be back with Stetson soon.
“Eh. No worries. You need to just enjoy that score.”
“I do. If I want to worry, I will, though.”
“Bossy old cowboy.”
“That’s me. I miss you, Roper.”
“I miss you, more than you know.” Stetson’s tone had changed, back to tense and tired.
“Roper, is everything—”
“I’m ready for you, Traynor,” Pete said.
“I have to go. I… soon, okay? I’ll be home soon.”
“Soon. Just a few more days. Text me to let me know how your butt is. And eat something.”
“I will if you do. Night, Roper.”
“Love you. Night.” Then the phone went dead.
He sat there a moment. Love. Yeah. God.
“Come on, Traynor.” Pete beckoned him over to an exam table.
“Do I have to, Doclet?” Doclet. Oh, that was good.
“You do. Need that looked at. Drop trou.”
“Don’t let anyone video my ass, man.” This was actually more fun than riding.
“Shut up.” Pete snorted out a laugh.
Ah, there was nothing like letting someone check out your tailbone while you were in the middle of the room. Nothing.
Not to mention that Pete had damn cold hands.
Chapter Thirteen
“STETSON? STETSON, man?”
He woke up in a rush, every inch of his body ice cold, the world having turned into a long series of numb periods interspersed with panic. “Wh-what? What’s wrong?”
“It’s time.” He didn’t recognize the voice. It didn’t matter. It was a nurse telling him Momma was dying. At this point, they’d said it more than once, and every time it was a lie. “Seriously, man. You’ve got to hurry.”
God. Everything in him—every single cell of his body seemed to clench for a second, the sensation so fierce he couldn’t even begin to feel anything.
“I’m coming.” He crawled out of his nest of blankets and tugged on his boots, moving as fast as his stiff fingers would work.
“I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”
“Thanks.” Time. It was time. Christ. Why did people say that? It was always time for something.
They trudged back across the parking lot, and another nurse met them at the door. “You need to come on, Stetson.”
“I’m here. I’m coming.” He looked at her, his eyes feeling like they were full of ground glass. “What do I do?”
Helena patted his hand. “Tell her goodbye. Be there with her. That’s your job now.”
“Right.”
He made his way to Momma’s room, his boots ringing against the floor.
The lights were off, the machines silent here in the room. The only real sound was the sucker deal keeping her from drowning in her own spit. Stetson stood there for a second, then sat and took her hand. It was warm still, but it didn’t feel like the woman who had run his world with an iron will. This was the frail hand of a stranger, and if he thought on it too hard, he would shatter like a cheap window. He didn’t have enough in him to do that, to deal with this. He was only one man, and he was scared and cold and so tired, it wasn’t fixable anymore.
“This sucks, Momma.” His voice was so loud in the silence of the room that he jumped, Momma’s hand falling to the bed in a lump. “God, I’m sorry, but I reckon you need to get on with this. You ain’t got to worry on me. I’ll be fine. Go on. Tell Daddy I said hey.”
Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? Tell her it was okay with him? Because, God help him, it was. He was beginning to dream about putting her out of her misery so he could go home. Hell, they put dogs down for less suffering.
He was a bad man.
A bad, broke-dick man with nothing to offer and a dead momma. He just wanted to do this one thing right. Please God, please. Let me do this right. I love her so much, but I need to lay her down. I can’t hold her up no more. Forgive me.
He picked up her hand and held it again, staring at nothing, as empty as he could be. At some point, Helena came in, turned the sucker thing off, and took it out of Momma’s mouth. “You can stay as long as you need to, honey. We put a call into the funeral home for you.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Do you need anything?”
He needed to go home. He needed to take care of things. He had feeding to do.
For right now, though, he thought he’d sit for a second in the quiet and say goodbye.
“No, ma’am. I think we’ll be just fine.”
Chapter Fourteen
CURTIS SMILED for the camera as he collected his big old check and his brand-new gold buckle. He wished he got a saddle like in Cheyenne; he’d give it to Stetson, because God knew the man could use some tack…. Where was that Cheyenne saddle anyway? At his mom and dad’s place in Colorado?
Who knew? Right now he didn’t need to care.
All-around champion. The number one cowboy in the country.
God, he’d worked hard for this, and he hoped Stetson was watching. He hoped Roper was proud of him.
He smiled and nodded and did the glad-handing afterward, but he didn’t linger for the party. He was already gone. His truck was waiting for him in the parking lot, packed up and ready. All he had to do was drive home. Ten hours and he could be there.
He hopped into the cab, then tugged out his phone. One last call before he got to see Stetson in person.
The phone rang once, and then he heard, “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, babe.” He frowned. “You sound pooped.”
“I’m so proud of you. You rode like a dream.”
“I did my best. It paid off finally.” He had enough put back now he could pay off some of Stetson’s liens.
“It did. I’m proud.”
Was Stetson drinking? He sounded a little slurred and a lot repetitive. “Is it too cold out there, baby? Do you need that hotel?”
“I’m home. In Taos. At the ranch.”
There was a dead finality in Stetson’s voice that hurt him, made him wince.
“Is she sleeping finally?” He didn’t think so. Dread settled in his gut.
“She’s gone. Yesterday morning, early.”
“Ah, Jesus, Roper. I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.” He managed to get on the highway and gun it. “You didn’t say, yesterday.”
“Wouldn’t have made her less dead, and you had a ride to make.”
The words made him smile. That was his Stetson, cowboy to the bone. Christ, Curtis hurt for him. “She’s in a better place, right?”
All of them believed that.
“Yes, God, yeah. You coming home?”
“I’m on the road now. Heading to you.” Yesterday morning. Stetson had so many arrangements to make. All those people to call about insurance if she had any, and debts and tax notifications.
“Not going to the after-parties?”
“No, baby. I want to get home to you.” He could help. He really could. Stetson would need him now more than ever.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m all over that idea.”
“I thought you might be.” He would get that wee tree too, damn it. He could stop at a Target or something. Get a few sparkly garlands and some balls.
“I watched every second.”
“Did you? That last ride was just okay, but the check was worth it.”
“All you had to do was ride, a
nd you did it.”
“I did. I—I’m on my way, Roper.”
“Thank God for that. I-I sorta…. I’m waiting.”
“Sorta what?” Stetson sounded so damned defeated.
“I’m just waiting for you.”
“I’m on my way. You got groceries?”
“I’ll go pick some up in the morning. You make sure you get some sleep tonight. Stop somewhere halfway.”
“I will.” Not. He was driving straight through. He would sleep with Stetson when he finally laid down his head.
“Okay. You stay safe. Call if you need me.”
“I’ll check in.” Hell, he would want to hear Stetson’s voice about every hour on the hour.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?”
“You totally will.” Curtis couldn’t wait.
“Okay. Come home. I’ll make you stew.”
“Oh hell yes. Make biscuits? I’m off the diet until February.”
“It’s a deal, cowboy.”
“I’ll see you soon.” He had to hang up because he needed to get the air going and get his head in the game.
He had a long way to go and a cowboy to get home to.
Chapter Fifteen
STETSON CLEANED the house up, did the feeding, his head down, the world quiet, still, the snow blanketing the ground.
God, his head hurt.
His heart hurt.
The horses and the dogs knew it, all demanding extra love. Trying to help. Even the ostriches minded their p’s and q’s, not going after his butt or his hat.
He gave all he had, the frigid temps pushing through his coat. His fingers stiffened right up, the joints swelling, and he told himself to breathe, to chill out.
Stetson needed to get the stuff to make biscuits and stew, so he needed to make a list and choke down some food.
He stomped off his boots at the back door, trying to get the bulk of the snow off them.
Lord, that made his toes tingle. He shook off his hat as well. Every so often he wished his people would have settled in southern New Mexico. Then again, the summers pushed up over a hundred degrees down there like they never did in Taos.
