Chapter Seven

SUNDAYS WERE always a huge contradiction. The mornings were lazy as hell if a man didn’t go to the cowboy church service, and Tank was a praying man who felt like being out under the sun was his way of communing with his Lord.

It was also short-go day, and that was a busy damn afternoon. But it was 9:00 a.m., and Tank had coffee and a sausage biscuit, and he was in heaven watching Dalton Jakoby work the two horses he hadn’t been riding this weekend.

Tank thought it was a little like watching one of them half-man, half-horse beasts from a myth. Dalton was shirtless, wearing jeans and boots and a beat-to-hell hat, settled in the middle like he’d been born to ride.

The man had core muscles. Ripped, delineated, sheened-with-sweat abs. Tank was drooling, and it wasn’t the biscuit.

Dalton was using nothing but his legs, throwing out one loop after another so the horse didn’t shy away from the rope. Man and horse worked together, and every time the big mare hesitated, Dalton talked her into the move, low-voiced and crooning instead of barking orders.

“He’s got a way with them, doesn’t he? More than any of us except for my dad.” Denver leaned against the fence, shaking his head. “I swear that boy was born in the saddle.”

“I think so. He’s amazing.” Now Tank felt like a perv, watching Dalton with the man’s daddy right there.

“He is. You happy to be back, still? Not bored?”

“Not one bit.” He grinned. “I know it’s a lot less time on the arena floor, but I got plenty to do in-between. I actually feel busier here.”

“Well, in a small getup like this, we all have more jobs. Doc says Greg had a broke rib? He doing okay?”

“He’s mad I tattled on him to Dustin, but he’s breathing better for it being taped up.” That was his job, taking care of the other guys.

“He’s got the same panties to get glad in.”

That surprised a laugh out of him. “I reckon Greg likes to be grumpy. He’s always rumbling about something.”

“Some folks are like that.” Denver sighed. “I’ll be glad to get out of here. There’s something ugly about the air. Something unfriendly for a Sunday.”

“Been a weird couple of weeks up here, huh?” That fight with Dalton and the one rider…. Well, Tank was keeping his eyes peeled.

“It has. Uncomfortable. It happens sometimes. We hit a place we don’t belong.”

“Yessir.” That had happened way more on the bull riding tour. “I ever tell you about that casino in Connecticut?”

“You didn’t. Share.”

“Well, we was all standing around talking about how nice the weather was up there in October,” he said, giving Denver his best grimace-grin. “And these fancy-assed boys in an SUV wanted our parking spot.”

“Did they now? Y’all have a come-to-Jesus meeting?”

“We did try to be sporting and warn them off. Then they called Brick Johnson a hillbilly.” Brick would take redneck. He would take trashy. Hillbilly made him see bright crimson.

“Oh. I been there when that happened once. Did ten thousand dollars’ worth of damage to Jean Bodark’s face.”

“Holy shit. How did he do that much damage and Jean still have a face?” That actually made him look away from Dalton.

“Mostly it was in the teeth. Dental work’s damn expensive.”

“Right.” He had two bridges himself from horns in the face.

“Yeah, we all know, don’t we?”

Rodeo left scars. It was the way of it. Denver had one thumb half missing and a deep scar on his chin. Tank reached up to touch the one under his eye that he could occasionally cover with makeup on retro night.

Even Dalton wore a roper’s scar, cutting deep into the corner of his lip.

God, he was pretty. Tank didn’t dare let it show right now, but he wanted. Badly.

Dalton rode up to the fence. “Pops, Tank. How are y’all?”

“Good, son, good. Want some water?” Denver reached out to put a hand on the mare’s nose.

“I do, thanks. She’s doing good today, huh? I’m real pleased.”

“She is.” Tank grabbed a water from a nearby cooler. “Here you go.” Jesus, this close up, Dalton was like a cowboy god. Tank was gonna spring wood.

“Thanks, man.” Dalton leaned down, the sun shining off the deeply tanned skin.

Jesus. Their hands touched, and damn if the earth didn’t move.

Dalton’s eyes went wide, the chips of bright blue dancing.

Denver cleared his throat, and Dalton sat up in the saddle, cheeks pink.

“Thanks. I’m going to go get her rubbed down and get a shower before it gets late. See y’all in a bit.”

Tank lifted a hand to wave, then glanced at Denver to make sure he wasn’t getting a look.

Denver’s eyes were on the arena, checking things. How many rodeos had this guy seen? Hundreds. Maybe a thousand or more. He’d been at it a long damn time.

“One more Sunday afternoon, huh?” Denver said.

“You know it. The adrenaline is already pumping. You can feel it from the church service.”

“You can. I’m going to check on Deb. She’s got food poisoning.”

“Tell her I hope she’s feeling better.” Tank turned to the arena, empty now.

“Will do.”

“Hey, Tank, you busy?” Dustin came jogging up. How did one twin seem so much less sexual than the other? “I need some help with one of the gates.”

“I’m at your service, boss.” He laughed when Dustin stuck out his tongue. “You are, though. You’re a good manager.”

“Yeah, yeah. You going to hunt my brother’s ass, Tank?”

“Whut?” He stopped, staring at Dustin.

“You heard me. You look at him like he’s lickable.”

He was gonna go up in flames, but he wasn’t one to lie, and he knew which way both the twins swung. “He is. I turned him down, you know. He was too damn young, but now….” Tank shrugged.

“Just be good to each other, huh? Dee’s a good guy.”

“I’ll do my best, Dustin. I really will.” Had he just announced an intention to move on Dalton?

“Fair enough. Now, come on. This gate is horked.”

“Is it bent to hell?” The arena had some cheap construction. He couldn’t even bitch. It was a tiny county fairground, but every performance was packed.

“Yeah, and I need it working. Can you tug it up?”

“Hold up.” He hoisted the gate, then slid the jack Dustin had brought over to hold it. Smart man. “That hinge is missing a pin.”

“That’s an easy fix.” Dustin rumbled through his toolbox, whistling tunelessly.

Tank leaned, just grinning. Dustin did nothing for him, sexually. Nothing at all. Nada.

How did that work? Weren’t they the same, like DNA deep?

He guessed it might be a little bit about being wanted, but it was also how sexual Dalton was. The man did everything with an edge of danger.

Dustin was solid as a rock, while Dalton lit him up like pure fire.

Tank shook his head. Sometimes life was a strange and wonderful thing.

“Okay, I found something that’ll work. Hold steady for me, and I’ll….” A clank and a whack and then Dustin stood. “Let her go and see if that did it.”

He stepped up to work the jack free, and hallelujah, it held. “Good deal.”

“Excellent. Thanks for the hand. I appreciate it.” Dustin shook with him, smiled. “Y’all have a good event.”

“We’ll try. Thanks for getting Greg checked out. He’s breathing a lot easier.”

“It’s my job.”

“It is.” He dared to clap Dustin on the back, feeling damn optimistic.

Soon. Soon, they would be on the road, but first, the short-go.

Time to play.