Here For You, page 4
The trailer’s living quarters did save them hotel and some meal costs, and driving two trucks with smaller trailers would double their fuel costs. They needed that savings since they paid entry fees totaling around a thousand dollars for barrel racing and team penning.
They were currently in San Antonio, where ropers and riders were gearing up to compete in one of the rodeos sanctioned by the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association, with prizes counting toward qualification for the Wrangler National Finals Rodeo at the end of the year. With more than 43,000 fans, the large rodeos consisted of a lot more than dust, cows, and contestants. The perks at this arena complex included free electrical hookups for contestants’ trailers, locker rooms with showers, free stalling for horses, food and drinks in the hospitality suite for the contestants and their families, and shopping at a variety of vendors.
Wil was entered to ride Pepper in the barrel race, and three of Ray’s roping/reining horses—No Cause Rebel, Sip of Whiskey, and Blackfoot—would be in roping contests. Reining and cutting competitions were usually held separately from rodeos. Wil had also brought Tombstone because one of the event’s major stock contractors was interested in seeing him buck. If he was impressed, money would change hands, and Tombstone would go home with the contractor.
She and Ray would ride Rebel and Whiskey in the team-roping event. They also paid entry fees for the twin sons of a friend in the area to ride Rebel and Blackfoot in the tie-down roping, since Ray was no longer physically able to wrestle a calf to the ground and tie its legs in the timed competition, and Wil had no interest in competing against the cowboys. The twins, recently turned eighteen, were thrilled to ride for the well-respected Double R because they were trying to earn their first thousand on the circuit to fill the permit requirements to become a member of Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association.
Wil had decided to ride Whiskey in the breakaway roping, which primarily drew female contestants. In that contest, the roper’s lariat end was tied to the saddle with a thin string. When the calf was roped, the string would break as the horse and rider slid to a stop and the lariat was stretched tight by the running calf. Time was called the moment the string broke. Cowboys weren’t interested in the event because it didn’t involve any macho steer-wrestling. The event, however, would give the audience another look at Whiskey’s perfect sliding stop.
That’s what they were here to do. Not to win prizes but to show prospective buyers the horses they’d trained and were looking to sell.
Wil and Ray were setting out the stall bedding and filling hay bags to hang in the stalls when a silver-haired man and a teenage boy pulled up in one of the rodeo utility carts. The older man grabbed a clipboard next to him on the seat and noted the Double R insignia that decorated the side of the trailer.
“You folks ready to haul your bedding up to the stalls?” He scanned the five horses hanging their heads out of the trailer windows, then frowned at his clipboard. “Looks like they have you assigned four stalls, but I see you have five horses. Do I need to call the office to see if somebody made a mistake?”
“No,” Ray said. “The bay on the end is a bucker. Dave Johnson is interested in buying him and will be coming around in the next hour to stall him with his other stock.”
“Gotcha. Dave’s a good one. Treats his animals right.” He gestured to the boy, who exited the cart and began helping Wil load plastic-wrapped bales of wood-chip bedding onto the back of the cart and the four-by-six wagon it was towing. Filling four stalls took a lot of chips. “We’ve got you in stalls eighty through eighty-three. I’ll move slow so you can follow me if you want to go ahead and lead two of your horses up there.”
“Sounds good,” Ray said, taking Rebel’s lead rope from Wil as she walked him out of the trailer. She unloaded Whiskey and followed their parade to the indoor stalls.
* * *
Lacey stared at the arena worker. “Are you kidding me? Nine dollars a bale for wood chips? I can buy better chips than these for six.”
“Then maybe you should do that. But you’ll have a hard time finding any within fifty miles of here. The event coordinators have bought up everything. There’s a shortage, what with the shipping problems caused by the pandemic.”
He wasn’t lying. Lacey had stopped at several farm-supply and feed stores on the way to the event, but all were sold out and waiting for more. She knew the arena price would be high because it included their cost of shipping and labor to unload and stack an average of ten bales each for more than a hundred ten-by-ten stalls. But nine dollars? And the bales the guy had pulled out for her weren’t good quality. Probably because she had only one horse and obviously wasn’t from one of the wealthy ranch operations.
“At least let me pick out my own bales. Those look like they’ve been in storage for years.” The chips were a bit too large and rough, and most of the bales were graying on one side—a sign that they’d sat exposed to the sun for a long while.
The man casually slid the toothpick he was chewing from one side of his mouth to the other. “No can do. It’d be chaos if we let every cowboy here crawl all over the storage room, deciding on a bale here and there. It’s these or none. If you don’t take them, the next guy will.”
Lacey’s anger rose and her face heated. “What about those over there?” She pointed to twenty plastic-encased bales of wood chips stacked on a flat cart like those used by garden-center customers while hers were stacked on the floor for her to carry or make multiple trips with a wheelbarrow. The chips on the cart were small and a fresh yellow-white color.
“Those are for Sonny Stevens.” He pointed to an approaching cowboy, who was wearing a shirt bearing several sponsor logos and embroidery over the right pocket that identified him as representing a well-known, large Oklahoma ranch. “Here he comes now to pick ’em up.”
Sonny offered a wide smile and gave her a suggestive once-over. “Hey, Bob. Those our bales? We brought a good bit but want to make sure to grab extra before you give away all the good bales to pretty ladies like this one.” He touched the brim of his hat to acknowledge Lacey.
She opened her mouth to rip both Bob and Sonny new assholes, but a low, smooth voice behind her made her stop.
“Can you pull ten bales for the Double R, Bob?”
Lacey whirled to tell this newcomer to wait her turn, but her mouth didn’t seem to work when she fell into the deep-blue gaze of the woman who’d been enriching her masturbation fantasies the past few weeks.
Bob, who had propped his butt against the chips intended for Lacey, stood quickly. “Yes, ma’am, Ms. Rivers.” He hesitated. “I thought you guys brought your own bedding.”
“We just want to make sure we have enough before you run out. We have several buyers looking at our horses, so it wouldn’t do for them to get stiff from standing on this concrete flooring.”
Sonny offered his hand to the woman. “I’m Sonny Stevens, Ms. Rivers. My boss at Mountain Meadows mentioned the other day that he wanted to look at any cutters your father has ready.”
“Please, call me Wil.” She smiled and shook his hand. “We, of course, didn’t bring cutters here today, but Jake Meadows is welcome to come out to the ranch and take a look. Dad has several ready for the arena, and several more not far off from being finished. But I wouldn’t wait too long. We have buyers lining up for the ones ready to go, and we’re selling options on a handful of others nearly finished.” She turned back to Bob. “Ten bales, Bob?”
Lacey was jarred from her stunned silence. These damned people were acting like she was invisible. She paid her entry fees just like they did, and she was one of the five top money-winning barrel racers so far this year. She cleared her throat and scowled. “I’m sure he’ll get your chips as soon as I get mine.”
Bob pointed to the chips he’d already designated for her. “Like I said, those are yours.”
Lacey narrowed her eyes. “If you think I’m paying nine dollars each for that crap, you son of a fuckin’ bitch, think again.” Fists clenched at each side, she took a step toward him. “I’m not taking your shit just because—” Wil’s warm hand on Lacey’s shoulder stopped her.
“How about telling the guy bringing out my bales to pull ten new bales for Ms. Bishop at the same time?”
Sonny stepped closer. “Hey. Why don’t you ladies just take the twenty they set out for me. I can wait for them to pull twenty more.”
Wil rewarded Sonny with a blazing white smile. “Thank you, Sonny. That’s nice of you.”
The young cowboy flushed red and touched the brim of his hat again. “My daddy taught me that ladies are always first.”
“Well, you can tell your daddy that we appreciate him raising you to be such a gentleman.” She winked at Sonny, and his blush deepened.
Bob huffed at Sonny’s offer but lifted his radio to tell the workers to bring out twenty more bales. Good bales, he told them, and Lacey gave Bob a sarcastic, sugary-sweet smile before she and Wil took possession of the cart holding their newly acquired stall bedding.
“I’ll tell Dad that Mr. Meadows is interested in his cutting horses and to wait before selling off his best,” she said as she pulled and Lacey pushed the cart down the aisle toward their stalls.
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Sonny grinned. “It’ll earn me some points with the boss.”
* * *
“You’re in the last stall, number eighty-four, right?” Wil steered the cart to the stall’s door and stopped.
“Yeah.” Lacey’s expression was wary. “How’d you know?”
“We’re assigned the four next to you.” Wil offered a smile she hoped would reassure Lacey and indicated the stalls they’d just walked past. “And your name is on the paper taped to that stall’s door.”
“Oh. Right.” Lacey froze mid-reach in her move to pull a bale of chips from the cart. “You know who I am?”
“Of course,” Wil said. “You’re on the leaderboard of barrel racers and in a good position to qualify for the National Finals Rodeo.” She extended her hand. “I’m Wil Rivers.”
Lacey wiped her hand on her jeans before clasping Wil’s. “Lacey Bishop.” She dropped her chin and shook her head before looking up at Wil again. “But you obviously know that.”
“Yeah.” Could this woman be any more adorable? Wil wanted to stare into those velvet brown eyes and hold Lacey’s smaller, slender hand a bit longer. She was still stunned that her stars had apparently aligned for her to be walking back to their trailer at the very moment Lacey was arguing with the jerk in charge of bedding distribution. They’d had only that one brief exchange the day Wil had congratulated Lacey for beating Brittney, but the attractive blonde had occupied Wil’s thoughts a thousand times since then. She was intrigued by Lacey’s fearless rides and her refusal to cow to the “princess” racers who had every advantage their wealthy families could buy.
Lacey cocked her head as Wil released her hand. “When I overheard your name a few minutes ago, I realized who you are, Ms. Rivers.”
“Please, like I told Sonny, it’s Wil.” She pitched a bale of wood chips into the stall. “But do tell. What do you know about me?”
“You and your father raise and train some of the top performing horses on the rodeo, reining, and cutting futurity circuits. The Double R is a premium training facility, and your horses sell for ridiculously high prices.” Lacey drew a three-inch Buck knife from her pocket and flicked it open to slice through the plastic covering and dump the chips onto the stall floor.
“Don’t be too impressed. The ranch operates with a hefty overhead, and we haven’t sold a single horse since the pandemic was declared.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. If that information got around, Mac Abbott and his buddies would knock thousands off their offers for Double R horses. “I don’t know why I told you that. It could be bad for our business if word leaked out.” She pitched another bale into the stall.
“There’s nobody for me to tell.” Lacey sliced the bale open and scattered the chips. “I’m not surprised, though. The pandemic shut down everything. Every business suffered.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes, Wil handing over bales for Lacey to split and spread. They stopped after six bales completed a lush, absorbent bedding for Denver. Lacey would store the remaining four bales in Denver’s trailer and provide replacement chips each time the stall was mucked.
When they were done, Lacey peered over the solid portion of the wall separating her stall from the last of Wil’s. A dark bay mare, standing on a thick layer of fresh wood chips, looked back at her. “Need help with your stalls?”
“Nah. All of ours are done.” She gestured to the cart. “We can take your extra bales to your trailer. Then Dad will help me store ours at ours.” He’d help her after she explained why she bought ten more bales of overpriced wood chips when they’d already brought more than enough. She grabbed the cart’s handlebar to guide it out of the facility and slid over when Lacey bumped her shoulder to join her in pushing it along.
“I’m no pillow princess. You helped me out. I’ll help you store your bales. I don’t like owing favors.”
Wil’s traitorous libido flashed an image of naked Lacey, her body bowed taut and head thrown back in ecstasy against a pillow, and a bolt of pleasure twisted in Wil’s belly before she firmly reined it to a hard, sliding halt. Damn. How could this woman send her into a spin with two words? Had Lacey intentionally used the pillow-princess sexual reference? Wil normally found people, especially men, easy to read. But this woman was a tornado, touching down all around her in a wildly unpredictable pattern and sure to plow through her at some point. She willed herself to appear calm and turned her head to make sure Lacey saw the truth in her face.
“I appreciate and will accept your offer to help, but I don’t expect repayment when I assist a friend.”
Lacey was quiet for a long moment while they pushed the cart out of the facility and toward the parked trailers. “I didn’t know we were friends. We just met.”
“I noticed you long before now, and I’d like to be your friend.” Wil held her breath and prayed her insecurities didn’t show through her casual and confident façade.
Lacey glanced at Wil, then faced away to shake her head before looking back and pinning Wil with a hard stare as they stopped the heavy cart next to Lacey’s dusty trailer. “Why?”
“Why?” The directness of Lacey’s question took Wil aback.
“Yes. Why would you want to associate with me? We don’t run in the same social or economic circles. We have nothing in common, except maybe horses and a need for wood chips.”
“Where do you want to stack these?”
The deflection earned her a sidelong glance, but Lacey lowered the rear ramp of her trailer. “In here, so I can lock them up.”
“You’ve had some stolen before?” This was the professional rodeo circuit, held at top arena facilities. Most of the participants came from wealthy ranches or were sponsored by brand-name companies or rich patrons. She could understand the precaution if they were at one of the unsanctioned rodeos where local ranch hands tested their skills for bragging rights and small money prizes.
“A couple of drunk bull riders once took a couple of bales of my hay and said they’d give it back only if I’d party with them. When I refused, they cut the twine and scattered my expensive orchard grass from here to yonder.” Lacey didn’t look up but began stacking the bales Wil moved from the cart to the trailer’s ramp. “Another time, some of Brittney’s friends swiped six bales of wood chips as a prank and stacked them on the other side of the rodeo grounds so I’d have to find them, then haul them back to my trailer. And that place didn’t have rolling carts like they do here. They thought it was really funny to watch me haul them one at a time in my wheelbarrow.”
“How’d you know they were your chips?”
Lacey took a felt marker out of her pocket and scribbled her initials on the plastic covering of each of her four bales. “Because I always mark my bales to guard against thieves and pranksters.”
Wil wanted to grind her teeth at Brittney’s bitches pulling pranks like they were high-school mean girls. The bigger crime was that several of them were riding premium racers—horses trained and sold by Wil—but wouldn’t dare challenge Brittney, their queen, for the top money. Of course, others outside their group, like Lacey, filled out the top rankings. But, damn. Just because they had the trust funds to buy her horses didn’t mean they deserved them. One day, the Double R would be in the financial position to turn down buyers she thought would not fulfill the potential of her elite equine athletes. That was her goal. The pandemic was only a temporary setback.
“Wil?”
She looked up and smiled sheepishly at Lacey’s raised eyebrow and amused expression. “Sorry. I zoned out.”
“I asked you where you’re parked, so we can unload the rest of these and return the cart.”
“Oh, right.” She looked at the ten bales still on the cart, and an idea began to form. “Actually, our trailer is way down on the end. Any chance I can talk you into letting me stack these in your trailer? It would be a much shorter distance for me to haul them back when I muck the stalls.”
Both of Lacey’s eyebrows shot up, and her mouth dropped open. “You muck the stalls? You brought four horses and no stable help?”
