let him get to you and you’ll earn his respect forever,” I whisper in her ear.
She nods again with the inspiration to do just that.
Della and I talk for the rest of the ride. Somehow, we move seamlessly from school to politics to travel. She’s smart, well-read, and she’s travelled to five continents. I’ve never been out of the US, so her stories about foreign countries are especially interesting.
By the time we arrive at the fairgrounds Chuck and BJ aren’t even listening to us anymore—maybe because they really aren’t interested, but more likely because they have a vested interest in Della and me getting close. We drive through the contestants’ gate and park on the grass lot next to the outdoor arena. It’s early, so I give Della a tour through the vendor and concession area while Chuck and BJ go get hotdogs. It’s not quite lunchtime, but she and I also stop to buy pulled pork buns and ice teas, walking through the fairgrounds as we eat. Eventually we make our way over to the pens where the bucking horses are kept.
“Wow. They’re impressive animals,” she says as she leans her elbows on the fence. “Their muscles ripple like athletes.” She watches them for a while, then turns to me. “What made you decide to be a bronc rider?”
I step in and lean on the fence next to her. “I didn’t really decide. It was more of a natural progression. Growing up on the ranch I watched my dad and all my uncles break horses. I saddle broke my first horse all by myself when I was eight years old. Since I was getting bucked around every day anyway, getting paid to stay on a bucking horse was a bonus. And it’s fun.”
She sips her iced tea through a straw and the way her lips surround it makes my heart speed up. “What do love about it the most?”
“Love about what?”
She laughs as if she thinks it’s weird that I lost the thread of the conversation. “Bronc riding.”
“Oh.” I’ve never directly been asked that question before. I push my hat back and watch the horses as I think about it. “Riding bareback on a wild horse is the purest form of horsemanship—it keeps me connected to my heritage.”
She nods and smiles. “That is a beautiful way to describe it. Have you ever been seriously hurt?”
I shake my head to downplay the injuries. “I’ve broken my wrist three times. My lung collapsed last season, which hurt. And I had a bad concussion in high school, which made me temporarily blind.”
She gasps and frowns. “Oh my gosh. You’re crazy.”
“Maybe.” I rest my hand on the small of her back to guide her to start walking again. I have to pull her elbow to sidetrack her past a manure pile. “Watch where you’re stepping.”
“Oh. Ew.” She hops over closer to me and wrinkles her nose. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yeah. That’s why we all wear boots. We’ll have to get you some for next time.”
Her cheeks light up like a pink sunset and the corners of her mouth turn up in the slightest smile as she keeps her eyes fixed on the grass. I’m not sure if she’s embarrassed because she almost stepped in manure, or if she’s happy about the inadvertent invitation to come along again next time. Maybe it wasn’t inadvertent.
I stop in front of the back pen to show her the bulls.
“Yikes. They have horns.” She stands five feet back from the fence. “Why in the world would someone try to ride a beast like that? Bull riders must have a death wish. Or they’re not right in the head.”
I chuckle. “Everybody in rodeo is not right in the head. But once it’s in your blood you can’t help it.”
“Was your dad in rodeo, too?”
“Yeah. He was a bulldogger.”
Her eyebrows angle dubiously. “What type of event do they do with dogs?”
“It’s not with dogs. Bulldogging is what they call steer wrestling. The rider slides off a horse at full speed and wrestles the steer to the ground.”
“Really? Is that a practical skill? Do you have to actually tackle cows on the ranch?”
“No. Not exactly.” I chuckle. “Sometimes the ornery ones need to be wrestled with when we’re branding. I’m better at roping them, though. I used to compete in the roping event when I was younger.” I wink. “But the ladies like the bronc riders better.”
The wink makes her bite her bottom lip. Damn, that’s a move that’s going to drive me crazy if she keeps doing it. I exhale and remove my hat to run my hand through my hair. She doesn’t even know how sexy she is. Unfortunately, my body definitely does.
As we walk, she asks me more about rodeo and ranching. I’m not normally the chattiest guy in the world, but I like answering her questions because she’s genuinely interested in the answers. And since I’m also more than interested in getting to know her better, we talk the entire time as I show her the rest of the fairgrounds.
When we return to the participants’ lot, Chuck and BJ are both sitting on the tailgate, wrapping their riding arms. They’re grinning at the way Della just looked up at me with her big doe eyes. Avoiding their eager-to-get-paid expressions, I turn to face Della. “I need to warm-up and get ready. Do you want to hang out here with us or head over to the grandstand to watch the barrel racing? It’s going to start soon.”
She glances at the stands and then over at Chuck and BJ. “I’m interested to learn about what you guys do for your pre-game warm-up, or whatever you call it. But I wouldn’t want to be in the way if I stayed.”
“You won’t be in the way. You’ll probably get bored watching us stretch, though. And you’re definitely going to wish you didn’t have to listen to Chuck’s inappropriate jokes. But you’re welcome to hang out here.” I pull out a fold-up lawn chair from the back of the truck and set it up for her.
“I won’t be bored, but I don’t want to mess up anybody’s routine by lingering.”
BJ hops off the tailgate and slides on his leather vest. “Making lewd comments to girls is part of Chuckie’s warm-up routine. And I personally perform better with an audience, so you’ll be doing both of us a favor.”
She looks over at me. “Are you sure I won’t be in the way?”
“Positive. Sit down.” I slide the chair over for her and then open my bag to grab my spurs and boot ties.
Chuck, who’s only wearing his compression shorts, sits on the grass to stretch his hamstrings. “So, Della. Back to our earlier conversation about how you’ll celebrate if any of us scores in the nineties; what kind of underwear are you wearing under that pretty dress of yours?”
“Shut up, Chuckie,” both BJ and I say at the same time.
“What? That is a legitimate question. If she’s going commando I’m about to have the ride of my life.”
I shake my head and shoot her a you-asked-for-it look. Either she’s inexplicably amused by his infantilism or she’s trying to prove that he can’t get to her.
Chuck and BJ both have
