wandered out past the back pens. My phone rang as I reached the lot where the participants all parked and camped. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, but she would keep calling if I didn’t answer.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Is your brother still in one piece?”
“Yeah. He won. How did your doctor’s appointment go?”
“Fine. Everything is about the same. How are you doing, hon?”
A combination of frustration and exhaustion shot out of my mouth when I exhaled. “I think it’s time for me to stop touring and get back to making a regular paycheque.”
“Cole won’t take his medications or eat properly if you’re not there with him. You know that.”
“He’s a big boy. I can’t spend the rest of my life following around after him picking up his messes.”
I knew she had hoped if I stayed on the tour for Cole’s sake I would eventually start riding again. It didn’t work. The more I hung around without competing, the more I hated it. I spit tobacco juice onto the grass.
“Are you chewing?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I ain’t chewing.” I paced around on the grass looking out at the horizon. She didn’t say anything else, so I said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him. We’ll see you tonight.”
She sighed. “Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I hung up and turned to drop the tailgate of my truck, because Cole knew I wouldn’t leave without him, and I knew he was going to take forever milking the win.
Shae-Lynn Roberts, the youngest daughter of the best chuckwagon racer in the country, leaned against the side of the truck wearing jeans and a white tank top. She’d already brushed out the curls she wore for competition and had her hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“Hey Billy. How’s your mom?”
“Good.” I sat down on the tailgate and reached for a bottle of beer out of the cooler that I kept in the back.
“Is she still having falls?”
I glanced at her, not really wanting to get into it, but I knew she was asking because she actually cared, so I said, “Yeah. The doctor wants her to start using a wheelchair.”
“A wheelchair. Really? I didn’t realize she’d gotten that bad.” Her eyebrows angled together in a genuinely sympathetic expression that made me uncomfortable.
I shot back some beer, then changed the subject to steer her away from the topic of my mom’s health. “You took first place again.”
“Yes, I did.” She paused for a second, aware that I had purposefully avoided the other conversation. After some contemplation she must have decided to let me get away with it. “Did you see my run?”
“Yup. It was good. It could have been better though.”
She propped her right hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side. “Really? What do you think I did wrong?”
“Harley dropped his shoulder at the first barrel.”
“Oh, and you’re an expert on barrel racing now?”
I chuckled. “You know how much rodeo I’ve watched in my life.” I flicked the beer cap into the cooler. “You don’t have to take my advice if you don’t want to. I don’t care.”
Her expression changed again and she raised her eyebrow as if she thought I was being rude. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
“You ain’t old enough to drink.”
She made a sweeping gesture with her arm to remind me where we were. “The drinking age in Alberta is eighteen.”
I tipped the bottle back and drank almost half. She stared at me, still waiting for me to offer. “What?” I asked.
“What do you mean what? I turned eighteen last month. You and Cole ate some of the cake my mom made. Remember?”
I remembered the cake, but I didn’t remember it was for her birthday. Even if I did know it was for her birthday, I would have sworn she was no more than sixteen. I didn’t care enough to argue with her, though, so I reached into the cooler and handed her a beer.
“Thanks.” She sat down beside me on the tailgate, eager to give it a go. I watched as she unsuccessfully tried to twist the cap off. She struggled with it for a while then, in frustration, handed it to me to do it for her.
“I thought barrel racers were supposed to be highly toned athletes.” I grinned to tease her as I popped the cap off and gave the bottle back to her.
She made a mocking expression to let me know she didn’t find my joke particularly funny. Then her gaze shifted to my mouth. She squished up her nose in disgust and asked, “How do you drink with tobacco in your mouth?”
“Practice,” I said, then tipped the bottle back to prove it.
About as impressed with my tobacco chewing as my mom was, she said, “Nice,” in a sarcastic tone. She stared at her beer bottle for a while as if she was building up the courage. After a quick breath she took a swig. It was obvious from the way her face twisted that she didn’t like the taste. She tried another sip and gagged as if she wanted to spit it out.
I laughed. “You want me to finish that?”
She gladly handed it to me. “It tastes like piss.”
“You have to drink enough to forget about how bad it tastes. Eventually, if you drink more, you start to forget about how bad everything else is too.”
She shuddered and cringed, still disgusted.
My attention shifted to Tawnie Lang, the barrel racer with the white horse and the tight ass. She was exiting the grandstand with all the other spectators. As she passed by, she removed the sky blue hat that matched the colour of her eyes and ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. It was about then that I decided it wouldn’t be so bad if we stayed one more night. I finished my beer and watched her walk towards her horse trailer.
“Oh my God. Stop drooling at the new girl,” Shae-Lynn mumbled.
I turned my head to spit tobacco juice on the grass. “I wasn’t drooling at nothing and she’s not new. I remember her from the junior circuit.”
“Oh.” Shae-Lynn glanced over her shoulder in a casual way to check Tawnie out. “Where’s she been since?”
I shrugged, wondering the same thing, then started on her beer. The cherry flavour of her lipgloss on the mouth of the bottle balanced out the horrible flavour of the tobacco that was getting washed down my throat.
Shae-Lynn faced me again and asked, “Why don’t you ask her out?”
“Who
