Thrown: Studs in Spurs, Book 6 Read online

  First things first. He had to make plans for the Mississippi event. Call in and get his name on the list. He grabbed his cell phone and scrolled through the contacts. When Riley’s name appeared his heart gave a little lurch. Should he text her? She had told him to. And Tupelo was practically in her back yard. It made sense to let her know he’d be there.

  So why did his heart pound when he hit the button and began typing in the message?

  Maybe because she was cute and smart and kind. Riley loved raising bulls as much as he loved riding them. She wasn’t like any girl he’d ever met before. He maintained a respectful relationship with her, as much because that’s the way he was raised as because of her father being so protective—not to mention scary. But all that didn’t mean he didn’t wonder what if?

  How cool would that be, having a girl who understood this crazy business and traveled the circuit?

  The circuit he no longer was allowed to ride in.

  Which brought him full circle, back to the Mississippi event he needed to win.

  Skeeter finished typing in the message that he’d be at Tupelo and he hoped to see her and her dad there. He hit send and sat. After a few seconds, he realized he was waiting, watching the phone for her reply.

  This was crazy. He hadn’t asked her a question to prompt a response, so why should she text him back? Skeeter gave up waiting for the text that most likely wasn’t coming and made the call to get on the list to ride.

  That settled, he pocketed his nerves and his phone and stood.

  “Going out?” He mother glanced his direction from her spot at the sink where she’d been scrubbing potatoes for salad.

  “Just to the garage. I want to see if those old weights are still out there. Chase thinks we all need to work out more so we’ll ride better.”

  She cocked one brow. “Chase won rookie of the year. You should listen to him.”

  As if Skeeter needed that reminder. Still, he had to smile at his mother’s tactics. After all these years, she knew how to play him. How his competitive streak would spur him into training hard and that would lead to him winning again. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She was a smart woman. He’d do well to remember that more often.

  Chapter Seven

  “Skeeter Anderson takes the lead with an eighty-nine-point-five and we have a new leader here in Tupelo.”

  It was a real nice change to hear the arena announcer say anything besides that he’d bucked off. To have him say that Skeeter was in the lead was even better. That he could win this thing kept the adrenaline from his ride pumping strong through his veins.

  “Good ride, Skeeter.” One of the stock guys slapped him on the back.

  “Thanks. Hey, you know anything about the short-go bulls?”

  “Only that a bunch of them were brought in as last-minute replacements.”

  Skeeter frowned. “Really? Why?”

  “You didn’t hear? Butch Davis dropped dead of a heart attack. He was supposed to bring a trailer full of bulls for this event. Hell of a loss to this business, I can tell you that.”

  Skeeter barely heard the rest of what the handler was saying. Everything after Butch being dead seemed to be white noise behind the pounding of his pulse. He hadn’t thought too much of Riley not returning his text, but when he got here today, he’d wondered why Riley and Butch weren’t here since this event was practically in their backyard. It had been odd that there were a bunch of cross offs and substitutions in the bull draw, but he’d been so busy getting ready to ride, he hadn’t gotten around to asking until now.

  “Holy crap.” Skeeter still couldn’t wrap his head around it. “I just saw him. That’s unbelievable.”

  “No kidding. I always thought Butch was as strong and healthy as any one of his bulls. Then this happens. Right out of the blue.” The guy let out a snort. “Goes to show you ain’t none of us knows what tomorrow will bring.”

  “Yeah.” Through the shock, he managed to respond while his mind spun.

  Riley must be beside herself. This business and her father were her life. What would she do now?

  “You can go check out your bull for the short go if you want. They’re all right back there in the pens.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Skeeter needed to get his head on straight and ride this bull in the short round. But after he’d gotten the win and the points and cash that came with it, then what?

  He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to set the GPS in the truck and drive directly to Riley’s place and see if she was all right. Could he? They weren’t that close. Then again, if it had been any of the guys who had lost their father, he’d do the same thing. Heck, he had done it when Luke lost his dad. They’d all caravanned to his place in Montana for the funeral. And Luke still had his mom and his business partner there for support.

  Who did Riley have? Skeeter didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. He wanted to pay his respects to a man he’d known and admired for years. Calling seemed too cold and he was so close, right in the same state, it made sense to drive there. He’d say what he wanted to say and make sure she was okay. Not that she’d be okay after this, but he could at least find out if she needed anything. If there was something he could do to help. He should call the guys too and let them know. Mustang was supposed to call Butch to ask about the bull-riding boot camp. That’s all Riley needed was her father’s phone ringing while she was grieving.

  He heard the announcement for the final round. It would all have to wait. But once he’d ridden, then he’d handle it. Skeeter turned on one boot heel. He’d never gotten around to taking off his chaps or vest, or even putting his helmet down. It was still in his hand, ready for when he needed to get into the chute. Theoretically, he was prepared for his ride, but mentally, not so much.

  His only hope was that these replacement bulls weren’t rank enough to buck him off. All he needed was a qualified ride in this round. He did some quick math in his head and realized the score didn’t matter so much. The ride could look like crap, as long as he made it to the whistle. Even if he scored in the seventies, as long as the guy in second place didn’t score higher than ninety, Skeeter would win this thing.

  He headed for the chutes, but Riley and the hell she must be going through was on his mind. She occupied his thoughts as much as his ride and how badly he needed this win.

  Before he climbed up onto the rails, Skeeter dropped to one knee. He bowed his head and said a quick prayer for both of them—him and Riley. And for Butch too, wherever he was. Best to have all the bases covered. The handler had been right when he’d said no one knew what could happen. Today, tomorrow, it could all end in a few seconds. Bull riders knew that better than most.

  He stood, brushed off his knee and slid on his helmet. He handed his bull rope to the stockman. The mouthguard went between his teeth and then Skeeter was ready to climb the rails. The same steps he’d been performing almost exactly for a decade now.

  Yeah, today he had a top-of-the-line helmet, not the one he’d had to borrow from Cooper until he could afford his own. Now his vest was covered in sponsor logos rather than duct tape to cover the holes. Still, he was that same kid who’d learned to love this sport ten years ago. And that was why he needed to win this event and get back to it.

  The bull hopped in the chute beneath him. Skeeter waited on the rails above until it settled down and then lowered himself onto the animal’s back. Everything around him turned to a blur of background noise as he concentrated on the feel of the bull under him.

  The checklist hadn’t changed. Take his wrap, good and tight, center his weight, check his foot position and nod to the gateman.

  “Get done and get out of the chute, kid. It’s easier to get yourself hurt in there than out in the arena.”

  Cooper’s words still echoed in Skeeter’s head at times, even all these years later. Only this time the echo of Cooper’s advice brought to mind the broken man he was now, not the idol and role model he’d been to an impressionable young bull rider.

/>   Skeeter shook the image from his head and said through the blockage of his mouthguard, “Go!”

  The gate swung wide and the bull bolted into the arena. It stumbled, falling onto its haunches. Skeeter held tight, pulling his knees so his feet wouldn’t hit the dirt and absorbing the impact as the bull pushed off his hind legs and shot forward in a straight line.

  Skeeter would have liked if the bull settled into a nice spin, preferably into his hand. Some good strong bucking to impress the judges would have been nice too, but it didn’t seem to be what this particular animal had in mind when he took Skeeter on a jolting ride around the arena.

  He held on, knowing his score would suck, also knowing he needed a score and it had better be over seventy.

  Finally, the animal got a clue as to what its job was, in part thanks to the bull fighters who surrounded him, blocking the path of its speed of light run and forcing it into a spin. Skeeter took advantage of it for the few seconds he had left to make this a halfway decent ride. He spurred like his life depended on it while adding some flair with his free arm, all in hopes of impressing the judges and pulling his score out of the crapper.

  The buzzer sounded and he pulled the tail of his rope, releasing his hand. Flinging his leg over the bull, he leapt off on the outside of the spin. He landed on his feet in a near perfect dismount and ran for the rails.

  Only then did the noise surrounding him seem to take on distinct sounds. The crowd cheered over the sound of the music blasting over the PA as the announcer’s amplified voice said, “Good ride for Skeeter Anderson.”

  Whether the judges agreed had yet to be determined. From his perch above the arena, he blew out a breath and twisted to look at the scoreboard. Numbers flashed up on the board and then a total—seventy-seven-point-five. Not great, but good enough to win this thing, and that’s all that mattered.

  “And Anderson keeps the lead to win the event.” The announcer confirmed Skeeter’s calculations.

  With the bull finally herded out of the arena, he jumped down and headed across the dirt. His to-do list rattled through his brain as he took his rope from the bull fighter and thanked him. He pulled his helmet off as he reviewed what he needed to get done. Pack up his gear. Look up the address of Butch’s ranch. Program it into his GPS. Get on the road and call the guys with the news and his idea. He’d start with Aaron and have him help contact the other guys…

  “Skeeter!”

  He paused mid-step as he headed for his gear bag. “Yeah?”

  “Dude, where you going? They need you in the arena.” The stock handler hooked a thumb toward the gate. “You know, for the presentation of the check and the buckle and all that.”

  He could have slapped himself in the forehead for his stupidity. It either spoke to the fact it had been too damn long since he’d won an event, or to his need to get to Riley and make sure she was all right. Skeeter didn’t know which, but he had indeed forgotten. “Yeah, of course. Sorry. Little distracted today.”

  The photographer took his pictures. Skeeter got his check and his buckle and yeah, it felt good, but his mind remained on later that day when he’d have to tell Riley he was sorry she’d lost her father and somehow convince her to let him and the guys help her out.

  Once he was set and on the highway headed for the ranch, Skeeter pulled out his cell phone and hit the button to call Aaron.

  “Skeets. Dude. How are ya? You ride this weekend?”

  “Um, yeah, I did. Tupelo. And I heard some pretty bad news while I was there.”

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” Aaron asked.

  “Butch Davis had a heart attack.”

  “No way. Is he okay?”

  “No. Aaron, he’s dead.”

  “Wow. That’s crazy. We just saw him. He looked fine.”

  “Yeah, I know. But listen, I was thinking, this leaves Riley alone on the ranch.”

  “She must have family. Or hired help. No?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I’m going to find out. I’m in Mississippi already so I’m going to swing by the Davis place and see how Riley’s doing.”

  “I think you just want to see Riley.” The suggestion was clear in Aaron’s tone.

  “Aaron. She’s grieving.”

  “Perfect time.”

  “Stop being a jerk.” Skeeter scowled. “We were all talking about bargaining labor at the ranch for time in the practice pen. Don’t you think this is the perfect time for that? When she could use the help most. While she’s getting over her dad’s death.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Or maybe she just wants to be left alone.”

  “Then I’ll find that out when I get there. But when I bring it up, I want to be able to tell her us guys are ready, if she wants help. The choice is hers. But I want a commitment from y’all before I bring it up.”

  “All right. I’m in. If she wants us there.”

  “Good. That makes two of us. Will you call Garret and Chase and ask them? I can call Mustang and ask him to get in touch with Slade.”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  Skeeter rolled his eyes as Aaron acted as if this was a big chore. He was probably meeting Garret for beers anyway. And he and Chase talked all the damn time. “Get back to me as soon as you can. Like in the next hour because I’m not far from her place.”

  Aaron expelled a breath into the phone. “’kay. I’ll call you back.”

  “Thanks.” He hit the button to disconnect with Aaron.

  One call down. One more to go. Skeeter slowed to the speed limit and tried to keep one eye on the highway in front of him as he scrolled through his contact list to get to Mustang’s number.

  The phone rang twice before Mustang answered.

  Skeeter drew in a breath and launched into the explanation one more time, though repetition didn’t seem to make it any more believable. And if he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that it had happened, how the hell must Riley feel?

  Chapter Eight

  “You brought a cake.” Riley put on the smile she’d perfected over the past few days and took the plate the neighbor handed her. “Thank you.”

  “I thought you could use it today with all the people here after the service.”

  “Definitely.” She let out a breath as she looked at the makeshift buffet already covered with food set up in the shade beneath the tree nearest the house.

  Thank goodness, her hired hand had thought of making this table. It was nothing but a board resting on two sawhorses that she’d covered with a clean bed sheet, but it was doing the job it needed to do. She certainly didn’t own a table big enough for all this food, or have enough room for all these people inside the house.

  Butch Davis was a popular guy. That much was evident. Stock contractors and ranchers had come from near and far on top of all the local townspeople and what looked like the entire congregation from church.

  Maybe there were more boards somewhere and Bill could make another table. She could use more space if the food kept coming. Turning toward the house, she headed for the front door with the intention of getting another knife for the newly arrived cake. And more paper napkins if she could find some. They certainly didn’t have enough plates. Or forks for that matter. Napkins and fingers would have to do. She also needed to check on the lemonade and see if it needed to be replenished. Mrs. Porter had been a godsend bringing over the big drink dispenser from the church and a sleeve of plastic cups.

  So much to do, but it was good. Keeping busy today was the only thing that kept her from breaking down like she’d done in the church during the service.

  “Riley.”

  She was concentrating on what she needed to do while she stared at the ground, but that voice brought her gaze up. The surprise was enough even to penetrate the numbness. “Skeeter. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  “I guess I should have called first. It’s rude to just show up.”

  “No, don’t be silly. Thank you for coming.”

  “I was riding in Tupelo when I
heard what had happened.”

  “That’s right. That event’s today. I got your text. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

  “Don’t worry. I wasn’t expecting a reply and you have too much else on your mind.” He glanced around at the crowd, all dressed in black. “I wish I could have gotten here earlier. I would have liked to have been at the service. I finished the short go and came right here. Well, that’s not exactly true. I tried to leave but they made me stay for the presentation of the check and the buckle.”

  “You won? That’s great. Really great.” Her happiness for Skeeter seemed to break something inside her and tears filled her eyes again. She swiped them away. “Sorry.”

  “Riley, don’t apologize. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now and if there’s anything I can do for you… That’s another reason I wanted to come, besides paying my respects to Butch, to make sure you were okay.”

  Every kind word he spoke, every ounce of sympathy she saw in his expression and heard in his voice, whittled away a little more at her composure until she couldn’t see through the tears blurring her vision. She drew in a huge shaky breath.

  The sweetest guy on earth, the one she’d had a crush on long before life as she knew it ended, and she was going to scare him away by breaking down. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.

  “Come on. Come with me.”

  She felt more than saw him take her by the elbow and steer her inside. Past the women she heard chatting in the kitchen, all the way until she sensed the peace and quiet of her own bedroom. He fixed the door so it was closed enough to give her privacy but still open enough to be proper. He really was too good to be true.

  “Sit down and take a deep breath. Do you want me to get you some water?”

  “No. Just a tissue. Please.” She could barely get the words out through the tightness in her throat.

  “Sure.” He grabbed the box from next to the bed and handed the whole thing to her.

  “Thanks.” She yanked one out and dabbed at her brimming eyes.

  He squatted down in front of her. “If you wanna cry, cry. If you need to talk, I’ll listen. If you just want to sit here and be quiet, that’s fine.” He let out a short laugh. “And if you want to tell me to go away and leave you alone, I can do that too.”