Page 8 of Wild & Worthy

Hot damn. Whatever this is — it's going to be fun.

Chapter three

Addie

Well, that fucking sucked.

Okay, it didn't suck-suck. My time was great, my run was tight, and I placed well. By any objective measure, today was a good day on the circuit. But not a single sponsor approached me. Not one.

Well… one did.

Cole Maddox cornered me with that smile he uses on people he thinks he can buy, and I barely let him get a word in before I turned him down. I'm aware that wasn't my most professional moment. I'm also aware I don't give a shit.

Cole's got his hands in everything. Half the smaller ranches in the county have seen his acquisition offers land on their kitchen tables in the last two years. His connections are real. On paper, it would be a solid outfit to ride with. But last year he went after Clark Ranch, and tried to push Hazel’s family out of the place they’ve worked hard for their whole lives. He played dirty too. So, no. It's personal now. No fucking thank you.

The bell above the door dings when I push into the Rusty Spur, and Randy behind the bar doesn't even look up. I take in the place I’ve been frequenting since turning twenty-one two years ago. Low light, scuffed floors, and the smell of spilled beer and something fried that I'll absolutely order in twenty minutes. Old country plays on the jukebox, low enough that the crack of pool balls carries over it. Half the stools at the bar are full. The booths along the back wall are filling up with the Friday night crowd, people still in their event clothes, hats and boots, ready to end the long day with a few beers—or ten.

I exhale for what feels like the first time since the warm-up pen.

I'm still turning over Cole's offer when someone steps directly into my path, nearly walking into a wall of flannel.

His scent hits me first. It’s cinnamon and leather, distinctly him. Then I’m tipping my chin up, and there’s Chace Walker. All six-plus feet of him, with his baseball cap turned backward, and light brown hair curling out from under the edges in a way that has absolutely no right looking so good. His shirt pulls tight across his forearms as he crosses them over his chest. His eyes are bright green under the bar light, and his grin is already in place, slow and certain, like he knew I was coming and positioned himself here on purpose.

Knowing him, he probably did. "My God, Chace." I try to sidestep him. "You're in my way.”

If it's possible, his grin only gets wider. "We've been waiting for you to show." He doesn't let me pass. Doesn't even shift his weight. "You were reckless on your ride. I told you not to push Dusty that hard."

"And yet here I am, having placed well despite your unsolicited advice."

"Congrats, by the way," he adds.

I glare up at him. Six feet of immovable, self-satisfied cowboy standing between me and a cold beer. "Move, Chace." I clock Hazel and Eli in the corner booth, Shae wedged in beside them, already talking with her hands. I try again to maneuver around him, but he just steps with me. “Do you ever stop being so damn annoying?”

"Nobody's perfect." He spreads his hands, the picture of false humility. "Besides me, obviously." The wink he gives me is exactly as irritating as intended. "Dusty was locked in out there. Let me buy you a drink — celebrate the run."

He means it. That's the part that throws me. The gleam from when I first walked in is still there, but underneath it is something sincere. Genuine things from Chace have a way of landing off-balance. Like a step you didn't expect on a staircase.

Celebrate. Right. Celebrate what, exactly? The run that netted me exactly one sponsor offer from a man I'd rather kick in the balls than ride for? He knows how today went. He was there.

I look at him sideways. "Buckle bunnies are in the corner. Left of the jukebox. In case you're running low on options."

He clutches his chest as if I've shot him. "So mean, Sunshine."

I’m finally able to break free of this little standoff and shove past him.

The corner booth wraps around the back wall, and I slide into the right side, across from Eli and Hazel. Shae is seated next to her, and in mid-story, based on the look on Eli's face. I drop onto the vinyl and reach for the closest beer without asking whose it is.

"—so he's standing there telling me the calf is breech," Shae is saying as I get comfortable, "and I'm like, sir, I have been elbow-deep in more cows than you have women. That calf is not breech—"

"That was my beer, Addie." Eli grins across the table.

"Looks like it's mine now, big brother. Thanks." I tip it at him. He shakes his head and pulls Hazel in closer. Shae doesn't even pause for the interruption, just keeps going — hands moving, voice climbing — because Shae telling a story is a whole event and the rest of us are just spectators. She's got one more year before she starts her clinical rotations, and she talks about animal medicine the way some people talk about religion. As if it chose her and not the other way around.

The waitress swings by, and I signal for another round.

"Dusty rode great today." Hazel's voice cuts gently through Shae's story, her eyes on me. "You both did."

"Yeah." I turn the empty bottle in my hands. "Too bad it wasn't good enough for an offer from anyone besides Cole Maddox."