Chapter Five

 

 

“LOOK AT you, Tank! Running like you actually want to instead of just have to.” Robin Greene was laughing at him, sitting on the rail. He had his denim and flannel on, but not his makeup.

“Shut up, clown. Just because you can get lazy….”

“What?” Robin hopped down to the dirt and began to do push-ups. “Not lazy.”

He pushed on Robin’s ass, playing. “Keep your butt down, old man.”

“You could sit on my ass and I would still be able to do this.”

They both ignored how Robin was sweating and straining.

“If I sat on your ass, it would be the worst ride I’d had in eons.”

“Ha-ha!” Robin did a burpee to get to his feet. “You boys hearing this?”

“Oh, impressive!” Tank applauded, right along with Tony and Greg. The guys had welcomed him home like it was nothing, even though they all knew it was, even though they had to be wondering why he came home.

He would tell them eventually. Tony was still young enough to get the vote if he played his cards right. Greg, not so much, and he was just gruff enough not to get the popularity with the riders.

“You hooligans ready to warm up?” They had to keep themselves loose, keep the twitch muscles working and ready to go.

“Yessir,” Greg said, firing off a salute. “Good to have you back. I didn’t like being senior bullfighter.”

“No? Well, I’m tickled as a pig in shit to be home. Anything y’all need me to know?” They started on their laps.

The boys started slow, working up to faster laps, but Tank knew he could maintain a moderate pace all day and get his muscles loose.

They all chatted about the bulls, about the newest guys that were reckless, the ones that were scared, the ones who weren’t going to last long because they were good and they’d go for the money.

“Watch out for Falling Rocks,” Tony said. “Just up from the futurity, and he’s a head flinger.”

“I hate those.” How many times had he had his chin smacked? Too fucking many.

“Yeah. I hear he’s got some Bodacious blood.”

Shit. That bull was still a legend, and he’d been a killer.

“I’ll watch. Is he one of Gene’s bulls?” Gene Major was decent to his stock, and Tank liked that.

“He is. Gene says if he gets worse, he goes to stud, but we’ll see.” Tony shook his head. “He’s awful fond.”

“That man does get all personal about them bulls, boss,” Greg said. “He sobbed when Dandylyin passed.”

“I missed that. I’ll have to tell him how sorry I am.” Tank had liked that bull a lot.

“He was a solid old bastard, wasn’t he? Did his job, bucked the hell of it, then went to eat.” Tony grinned over. “I like those types.”

“Yeah. Easy-peasy.” Greg was panting a little, and Tank looked him over sharply. “You got a cold, buddy?”

“Allergies, huh?”

“He’s got a broke rib, boss. He ain’t telling Doc.”

“Why the hell not?”

“We was down a man,” Greg said, staring him down. “We didn’t know you were coming.”

“And now I’m here.”

“It’s fine.”

“Have Doc check it out. I mean it. You’re huffing and puffing.” Him and Greg, they got each other.

“Just hurts some. I’ll go. Swear.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Tank spread his hands. “I should have called, boys. I wasn’t sure I would make it this weekend, so I left it open.”

“Next time, call. We ain’t kids. We can handle disappointment.” Tony didn’t give him a bit of quarter.

“God, bitter much?” Robin ran when Tony went after him.

“Oh, boss. Robin’s fixin’ to get his ass handed to him. He’s been riding Tony like a prized pony.”

“Any reason?” He liked to keep up with rumors even if he wasn’t a gossip. Half the time they yielded true, and he was better off prepared.

“I think Robin just likes it. You know how he is. He can’t never just let someone be.”

“How’s Tony holding up under it?” Tony could have a hot-flash temper. Tank would hate to get on his bad side, but Robin was a funnyman. They always had to poke and poke.

“Well….”

They both watched as Robin hit the dirt, Tony popping his ass once but good.

“Looks like he’s got it under control.” Tank hooted, slapping his leg. Go Tony!

He shook his head, smiling as Tony got the clown upright. It was fixin’ to be a good night. He could feel it.

The bronc riders were starting to file in. “Robin, go get your makeup on!”

“On it. Be out shortly!” Robin did a half-assed cartwheel and ran off.

“Y’all ready for the entry parade?” The Jakoby outfit did it old-school, and he loved that. Hell, he loved to watch Dalton Jakoby on horseback.

The hot little son of a bitch was made for horseback. And speak of the devil, Dalton and KC Hanson rode into the arena, ready to exercise their mounts for the night.

The sleek bay moved like a dream, Dalton working him like a master, the two animals working in tandem.

That was something to see, and he stood there until Greg whapped his arm. “We need to get going, man.”

“Right. Sorry. That a new horse?”

Greg shrugged. “The man can have any mount he wants.”

“You got a problem with Dalton?” he asked.

“Huh? The boss? Shit no. I just mean I don’t pay attention to his horses.”

“Oh.” Tank relaxed, his hands unclenching. Right. He needed to not get so defensive.

“Dalton’s the best horseman I’ve ever worked with. Dustin’s way more like to act the boss, you know? Dustin’s running shit on the back end like a demon.”

“No shit?” Dustin always seemed so calm all the damn time.

“He doesn’t suffer fools, not at all.”

“Huh.” He would have to watch that. Still waters ran deep. One way or the other, it was good to know how much Dalton had the men’s respect. Lord, he was a little stupid about that man.

“Tank. The procession starts in ten.”

“Shit. I’m supposed to be on horseback.” His warm-up was done. He was getting a special introduction tonight. “Time to cowboy up.”

“Uh-huh. You riding in your uniform or you putting jeans on?”

“I better put them on.” He sighed. All this dressing and undressing.

“Your inner thighs will thank you later, man.”

“No shit. So will my pads.” He ducked back behind the chutes, hunting his bag in the riders-only area.

“I got you a horse saddled, Tank.” Miss Deb was there, a big rawboned monster waiting for him.

“Thanks, lady. You know how long it’s been? I shoulda practiced.”

“Dab has done this a thousand times. You just have to keep your seat.”

“I can do that.” He would lose his Texas ID if he got thrown.

“Well, duh.” She winked at him. “Get your jeans on, cowboy. They’re fixin’ to start.”

“Right.” He politely turned his back, but he had nowhere else to shuck off and put his jeans on. Lousy little arena.

“Sister, we have a mare back here with hoof rot.” Dustin’s voice rang out. “I’ve switched her out, but I need you to look at her.”

“You got it. Which one?”

Tank glanced up to find Dalton, still on horseback, watching him.

Those blue eyes just burned, staring like Tank was the hottest thing since sliced bread.

Tank’s cheeks heated, and he hitched up his jeans, getting them fastened. “Ready to ride,” he said.

“Load up, Mr. Tank.” Dustin held the reins, and Tank prayed he could mount without going ass over teakettle.

He took a deep breath, got one foot up in the stirrup, and vaulted off his bad leg. He made it just fine. In fact, he almost shot right over the chestnut’s back. Adrenaline.

Dustin caught his leg, settling him, then handed him the reins. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. Lord, it’s been a while. I ought to come out to your folks’ place and ride some.” Tank didn’t have a spread of his own since he was never home. He had a tiny townhouse in Georgetown, but it was mainly storage. He didn’t even have time for a damn dog.

“Sure. You know everyone’d love to see you.”

“Cool.” Not that he would go without calling Miss Linda first. No, sir. She’d pull off his ears and feed them to him. He settled on Dab’s back, rocking his butt down between horn and cantle. Someone had been kind, choosing a saddle he could get his butt into.

“You got this?” Dustin almost waited for his nod before he ran back to work.

He pressed his heels into Dab’s sides, heading for the group of cowboys lining up for the grand entry. It was just like falling off a bicycle. A man remembered quick how to do something he’d done so much as a kid.

Dalton rode in front of the procession, then curled around to the back to ride next to him.

“Hey.” Tank grinned over. “I’m riding.” That was a good thing. Shit, he knew roughstock guys who had no idea how to ride a saddle-broke horse.

“You are. You almost don’t look worried too.”

“I’ll settle. Dab here is a good guy.”

“Retired trail horse,” Dalton murmured. “That’s why we use him for the entry.”

“God, I feel old now.”

“Not all that much.”

“Not much? You whippersnapper,” he teased, but he watched Dalton closely to make sure the joke didn’t dig too hard.

“Uh-huh. That’s me. You ready to wave, man?”

“I am.” He heard his name called, and Tank stood in the stirrups, waving left and right. Not as big a cheer as he would get in Texas, but it was gratifying to hear people hooting and hollering.

Then they all lined for the anthem and the prayers, every cowboy’s hat off. Tank looked to the sky, thanking the Lord for letting him have this.

He needed it. Needed to heal—body and soul.

Sometimes a man had to admit his limitations, even if it made him feel weaker.

He sat in the saddle, looked over at Dalton, and his body tightened again. That was inconvenient when he was on top of a horse. Down, boy.

“All right. Time to get to work. Bareback riders ho! Have a good event!”

“Yep. Holler if you need me.” He rode Dab out of the arena and turned the big gelding over to Dustin, who’d taken Deb’s place. “Thanks for the loaner.”

“Anytime. Y’all have water and everything?”

“We do. Greg has a rib out. Can you make sure he sees the doc after the show?”

“He can see Doc now. Send him to me.”

“He might hurt me, but I’ll try.” Greg wouldn’t have told him about the rib if it wasn’t scaring him. He figured Greg wanted him to be the one to make a fuss.

“You do that.” Huh. Looked like Dustin was wearing his boss boots just fine.

Tank grinned, then jogged over to Greg and Tony. “Go see Doc. Dustin’s orders.”

“After the bull riding, huh?”

“He says now, buddy. And he’s heading your way.” Tank and Tony both abandoned the man to his fate.

“You’re gonna be in the dog house with him, man.” Tony winked over.

“I already am, I think.” He shrugged. “Was he super fond of Jonah or something?”

“Not that I know of. I mean, they were fine. He was jealous of you, and hell, we make a good team.”

“Ah.” Damn. Greg had never gotten voted to one of the big finals. That sucked, that he wanted it. Still, it wasn’t none of Tank’s.

Not unless Greg made it that way, and he’d already told Tank he could have head bullfighter back.

Maybe they just needed to get to work and have a couple beers tonight. That would get them all back in sync. Wasn’t much a Bud Light couldn’t fix.

In fact, that was the plan. Bulls, beers, bullshit.

He climbed up on the rail to watch the pick-up man work the bronc riding. Just the one. Dalton.

Tank couldn’t believe how the man moved, the horse as much a part of the package as Dalton’s own legs. Lord. He needed to stop thinking about packages.

He was beginning to be a one-trick pony.

The thought had him chuckling. He hopped down and started bending, stretching, trying to keep his head in the game.

“Doc wrapped me up. Says I can work.”

“Good deal.” Tank rose and held out a hand. “Thanks for getting it checked out.”

“Thanks for coming back.” Greg took it, shook.

“I’m tickled.” He pulled up his shorts and showed Greg one of his worst scars, the one around his knee. “Those bulls up there are too damn good.”

“I saw that on the TV. Damn, man.”

“Yeah. I was out for a while.” He knew it was shitty of him, but if he could make Greg understand what the guys up there went through, that jealousy would fade.

“Sucks. We lost Vic Underwood, did you hear? Kicked in the head in Wimberley.”

“Shit. No. I didn’t know.” Holy hell. He would send a card to Anna.

“Yeah. He was gone before he hit the dirt. It was fast, thank God.”

“Amen.” They all hoped for that if it was gonna happen in the dirt.

The three of them stepped together, the need to pray immediate and strong—for tonight, for Miss Anna, for all cowboys who lived this life.

They broke apart when the final buzzer sounded on the team roping. Time to set up the barrels.

“Let’s do this thing.” Time to get to work.

Praise Jesus.