Strung Up: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella (11 page)

“Us either. Luckily, Wyn, Mel, and Evan haven’t been around them for a couple of weeks. It’s hard on my folks, though. But we don’t need them getting sick.”

“Amen to that.” Berlin’s eyes scanned my face. “No one is worried about you catching it?”

I grinned. “My family claims I’m too ornery to catch it.”

“Then London shouldn’t have gotten it either.”

“Ooh, I’m tellin’ her you said that, Mama B.”

She whapped me on the arm. “Come on. I know why you’re really here. I want to see it too, so let’s walk over to the arena.”

Tonight the instructors were demonstrating their rodeo skills for their students. As much as I wanted to see my man in action, we were still stumbling our way through public appearances as a couple, especially when it came to his job. It’d been really sweet that the big, tough rodeo cowboy had acted shy when he’d asked me to come to the demo. As if I could refuse that.

It’s not like you can refuse him anything.

Maybe I’ll start with refusing to let him go when this session ended in six weeks.

Whatcha think about that, voice of reason?

My voice of reason got suspiciously quiet.

“So we received some great news today that you’ll be interested to hear about.”

Please tell me that Breck signed on for another teaching session.

“What’s that?”

“Mel’s sister Aly has agreed to teach an equestrian class next semester!”

I stepped around a cactus. “Mel will be thrilled. But is Grade A set up to handle that? I mean, is there specialized equipment you’ll have to buy?”

“Believe it or not, Aly is donating most of it. And because this whole complex is brand new, it’s completely ADA compliant.”

My sister-in-law’s sister Aly had been paraplegic since age sixteen. Being wheelchair bound hadn’t prevented her equestrian pursuits. The woman was a total badass on a horse. After winning a bronze and a silver medal, last year she’d finally won gold in the Paralympics Games. Earlier this year Mel mentioned Aly had decided to retire from professional competition, but she wasn’t sure what Aly would do next.

“We will have to change a couple of things,” Berlin continued. “Starting with adding asphalt paths that connect all of the outer buildings to the arenas. It’d be too dangerous for wheelchairs to use the road.”

“Aly has the contacts to bring in students?”

“Yes. But for that program, enrollment will be very limited. If it’s successful we can always bump up the numbers.”

I draped my arm over her shoulder. “Mama B, you are amazing. The more time I spend here, the more I’m impressed by the kind of place you’ve built. Not in terms of the best of everything—although that does apply—but it’s an inclusive atmosphere when it could easily be exclusive. High-five for that.”

Berlin stopped and faced me. “Thank you. It’s been a labor of love.”

“It shows.”

We walked into the arena and I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to go.

“Breck said you should sit at the rear since that’s where you prefer to be.”

I fought a blush. That jackass loved to tease and see if others picked up on his innuendo. “Thanks.”

Berlin jogged down front and I scaled the bleachers until I reached the top row. I’d have a great view from here.

The kids I’d seen shooting hoops and playing volleyball started shuffling in. I watched DiDi, head chaperone, count heads and then do a roll call. When she spoke into her walkie-talkie, I suspected some dumb kid had tried to skip out.

I settled in to watch the show and snickered when Macon Gradsky’s voice boomed through the sound system. It killed me that the buttoned-up attorney was a total ham when he filled in as an emcee, rodeo announcer, and DJ.

The school ran these demos like a rodeo, with the bucking horses first. The only difference was they’d do two run-throughs, allowing each instructor to demonstrate twice. I’d learned from Breck these past few weeks that rodeo competitors were making constant adjustments. Arena conditions, the quality level of the rough stock events impacted each round. So showing the students two rounds allowed them to see successes and failures—another unique aspect of this particular rodeo school.

Since Breck had stopped vying for the All-Around title after winning three world championships, he’d dropped saddle bronc from his competitive events. I was glad I didn’t have to watch him tie himself to a mean-tempered bronc determined to toss him on his ass. Seeing him launch his big body off a galloping horse and onto an animal running away from him and then wrestling it to the ground provided enough white-knuckle moments for me.

I hadn’t seen him compete in tie-down roping, but his championship status indicated he excelled at that too. Two nights ago the cheeky asshat had told me after he’d blown me that tie-down roping was the only real skill he could bring to ranch work.

So my head had been spinning, my balls were still tight, my cock was still throbbing when he’d dropped that gem on me. Or had it been a hint? Like he’d wanted me to be aware that he had the experience I needed in a ranch hand? Or was it wishful thinking that my lover was showing interest in becoming a long-term partner with a rancher?

I still hadn’t sorted all that out yet.

Macon’s announcement that Breck Christianson, three-time CRA All-Around World Champion, was on deck to demonstrate steer wrestling—aka bulldoggin’ in the world of rodeo—pulled me out of the fantasy of Breck riding the range beside me for many years to come.

I squinted at the chute below me. On the left side I could see the top of Breck’s hat and the ears of his horse. I didn’t know who’d agreed to be his hazer—the guy riding on the right side during the run that kept Breck’s horse in a straight line—but I knew he preferred to have Sutton doing it.

The gate opened, the steer got a head start, and then Breck chased after him.

My gut clenched when Breck leaned over the right side of his horse, with just his right foot in the stirrup and his left hand on the saddle horn. His left leg practically stuck straight up as he slid it across the back of the saddle.

Most people thought bulldoggers launched themselves forward, but they actually leaned back. So once they grabbed ahold of the steers’ head, they could pull backward when both their feet hit the dirt. That balance to power ratio allowed them to twist their bodies and use their weight and strength to slam the steer on its side.

I’d listened to my brother discuss dismount strategies, complain about flexibility training and conditioning. I understood there was more to what steer wrestlers did than what rodeo spectators saw in the few seconds they spent in the arena.

When it all came together like clockwork? It was a sight to behold. Danger and precision that looked effortless.

That’s how my man’s first run went.

Breck had that steer down in 3.9 seconds.

Applause and whistles echoed throughout the arena. I had such a burst of pride for him to hear the entire school’s acknowledgment of his skill—an affirmation he hadn’t heard for far too long.

I saw him glance at the judge to see if there were flags for breaking the barrier or an illegal takedown. When he saw nothing but the impressive time on the scoreboard, his cocky grin made my dick hard.

And I paid particular attention to how he walked across the dirt. Not only because his rear view was damn fine with that tight cowboy ass and his broad shoulders, but I wanted to see if he favored his right leg. He’d mentioned having a sore knee last night. When I saw him hitch his shoulders and twist to the side, I figured he’d probably prefer a backrub to a blowjob tonight.

My voice of reason snorted disbelief.

After the bulldogging event was tie-down roping, and I noticed Breck served as hazer for the tie-down roper. Team roping followed, then barrel racing, and finally bull riding.

There was a fifteen-minute intermission before the next round started. I didn’t move, although I exchanged a few friendly waves with other instructor’s significant others as we killed time in the stands.

Breck’s second run resulted in just a tenth of a second faster than his first time. If this was a real competition, his combined score was good enough to land him in the payout slots.

After the demo ended, a quick thank-you to teachers served as the closing of the event. The arena emptied quickly but I didn’t rush out. Breck would track me down when he finished with his official duties. The school had horse handlers, so he didn’t have to deal with that, but he never trusted anyone to take care of his tack—a habit I respected.

Twenty minutes later I heard the
clang clang
of his boot heels on the metal steps as he climbed the risers. The happy grin, the light shining in his eyes when he looked at me…just did me in.

Yep. You are so dick-whipped over this bulldogger.

I stood when he reached me. He didn’t look over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching before he hooked his hand around the back of my neck and brought my mouth to his for a kiss.

“Hey.”

Another thing that made me so crazy about him? He kissed me hello. Every single time. Usually before he uttered “hey”—the standard cowboy greeting.

“Hey, yourself. Nice runs. You looked good. Smooth. Like you’re still competing a few times a week.”

He shrugged, but I knew he was pleased I’d mentioned it. “Thanks. You hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Good. I had a little extra time today so I went into town and picked up that ice cream you like so much.”

“You did?”

“Yep. Course, you’re gonna have to share.”

A mental image flashed of Breck licking the sweet white stuff off my stomach and cock.

“I also saw the new Lee Child paperback, so I snagged that for you too.”

Yeah. Not just about sex for me anymore—if it ever was. “Aw. Thanks. Is that a hint you need a break tonight and you’re actually gonna let me read?”

Breck growled and gave me a hard kiss. “Fuck, no. We’re gonna eat. Then fuck. Then I’m gonna school you on Madden, boy.”

“You wish. I have a surprise for you too.”

“What?”

“Not telling. That’s why it’s a surprise.”

He shrugged. “I know what it is anyway. Blood test results.”

Of course he’d gotten his too. “Mine were all clear. I brought them with me.”

“Mine’s all clear too.”

We grinned at each other.

Then he said, “Think it’d be obvious we’re impatient to fuck if we run through the crowd and back to the campsite?”

“Maybe just a tad. Besides, I’ll meet you. I left my truck in the office parking lot.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

I didn’t point out that would put us in direct view of the cafeteria and the dorms and everyone would know we were headed back to his place.

But Mr. Popular had to stop and chat with everyone. As much as I wanted time alone with him, it thrilled me to see the return of charismatic Breck, the confident cowboy, the guy in the thick of things. The joy on his face, like he truly felt their acceptance…was worth the wait.

Chapter Seven

Breck

“I suck as a teacher.”

Jerry, my colleague, the saddle bronc instructor, grunted and crushed his empty Coors can beneath his boot. “What makes you think that? Did one of your students say something to you?”

“No. It just seems none of them are makin’ any progress.”

“Progress.” Jerry snorted. “These kids are here to learn the basics. Think back to when you were seventeen. Did you give a hoot about
makin’ progress
? Or were you more focused on if the pretty girls were watching you acting like a rodeo cowboy stud?”

A beat of silence passed and the campfire popped, sending a flame of orange sparks into the air.

“Shoot. Sorry. Sometimes I forget that you’re…” He gestured distractedly. “You know.”

I grinned. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that you forgot I’m…
you know
…”

“Smarty.”

“Anyway, yeah, I had an ego and liked people watching me become a rodeo stud and All-Around Cowboy contender. But I also had discipline and drive to get better in all three of my events. And I can’t get these boys to focus on just one event when they’re in class.”

“Discipline and drive is why you’ve won more championships than the whole lot of these students—combined—ever will.” He paused. “There’s only one student here with the potential to win big.”

We both said, “Etta Geyer,” at the same time.

“See? You know talent when you see it, Breck. You can’t feel guilty because none of your kids have talent.”

“Lucky for Sharla, she knows she’s got a gem in Etta.” Sharla, the barrel racing instructor, had twenty years on me and Jerry age wise. She’d retired from competition before I’d started competing. I’d never met anyone who knew every nuance of the sport like she did.

“Etta may have to give it up because of her family situation.” Jerry cracked open another Coors. “I ain’t a gossiping old fart, but this is her last year to prove herself on her high school team and snag the eye of one of them college rodeo team recruiters.”

“Where’s she from?”

“Nebraska.”

“So she lives too far to use Gradskys’ stock to make a splash.”

“Yep. Damn shame. But I think the school officials would call it an unfair advantage.” He sent me a sideways glance. “Etta’s been clocked below eleven on Whistler’s Dream.”

I shook my head. “That’s unheard of.”

“That’s why I hope that little gal gets to make a name for herself.”

We watched the fire for a while. I kicked the closest charred log deeper into the embers.

Jerry swallowed a mouthful of beer. “The last three weeks of this session are gonna drag out forever.”

God, I hoped so. I couldn’t believe how fast time had flown by and I’d been in Colorado for two months. Cres and I had been together for seven of those eight weeks. When I realized I only had three more weeks with him, tightness banded across my chest and I felt as if I was slowly suffocating.

“If you think you’re a sucky teacher, does that mean you won’t be back next session?”