Cowboys & Kisses (21 page)

“Allie?” Dax’s voice was soft. I shot him a look.

“That’s right.
Allie
Cooper. With the rich parents and fancy big house and college scholarship ideas.”

Who is this guy?
I glanced at Travis. There was nothing familiar about him. Maybe he was another one of Dad’s old friends?

“Hey, buddy, can you move?” someone behind me asked.

“Can you shut up?” Travis answered. “
Buddy?
”

“Wanna make me?” the same voice asked.

Dax and I turned to see an overall- and feed-store-cap-wearing giant stand up. He smiled at Travis, crossing his thick arms over his barrel chest. I knew a dare when I saw one. I looked at Travis.
Your move, smartass.

Travis laughed. “Cool your heels. I’m goin’.” He leveled an angry stare at me. “You stay away from my boy. No Holcomb needs a handout.”

My boy. Holcomb…

I stared then, too surprised not to. Travis Holcomb’s brown eyes narrowed, hostile. I didn’t see a sliver of the warmth and tenderness his son’s bore. I didn’t see
any
of Wyatt in this person. In fact, Travis Holcomb scared me.

I watched him sway as he made his way down the few steps of the bleacher to the ground. He didn’t look back, but he did check out a girl not that much older than me before he finished off another bottle of beer.

“
That’s
Wyatt’s dad?” Dax whispered.

“That dipshit? He’s Wyatt Holcomb’s daddy, all right.” The giant leaned between us, his breath a stomach-turning beer and nacho mix. “Can’t imagine Wyatt’s too happy ’bout it.”

I watched Travis Holcomb swagger to the end of the bleachers and disappear into the sea of cowboy hats. I suddenly understood why Wyatt wasn’t all that upset that his dad was gone so often.

“Allie?” Dax nudged me.

I looked at my brother. “Still processing… Kind of…in
shock
.”

The giant laughed. “Sounds about right.”

Dax stood and tugged on my arm. “Let’s go get some water.”

I followed, holding my half-full water bottle against my chest.

When we were walking across the gravel path toward the concession stands, Dax stopped. “Now, you okay?”

“I got the impression he didn’t like me.” I spoke softly, staring up at the black sky and millions of tiny glittering stars overhead. But there was something cold and twisting in my stomach. Something was…off. “He’s the anti-Wyatt, you know? Kinda scary.” I tried to tease, but my throat was tight.

“You got that too?”

I shot him a look. “Wyatt’s never really talked about him, or his home life.”

Dax nodded behind me. “Now’s your chance to ask him.”

I turned around in time to see Wyatt walking quickly to me—smiling that megawatt smile that made my insides melt, flip, and melt again. I didn’t care that I was grinning like an idiot. I could see how happy he was, a little proud even. He should be. I was.

Then his d—his d-dad—
nope, can’t do it, can’t call him that
—then Travis stepped in his path and Wyatt froze, everything about him changing. It kind of freaked me out to see Wyatt’s face so hard, his posture tense, like he was bracing for something bad. Really bad.

But Travis
was
his father. I waited for a high-five, that’s-my-boy moment between them. I got the feeling that wasn’t going to happen.

“You think 16.25 is gonna cut it at Regionals? Get you to Invitationals?” Travis’s tone was a disturbing mix of condescension and challenge—the kind of tone a coach used when he was trying to goad his players into success. The coach that the team hated.

“What an
ass
hole,” I whispered, but Dax hushed me.

Wyatt’s gaze was fixed on the ground between his boots. He didn’t look up, at his father, at me, at anything. “It’s not bad.”

“
Not bad?
” Travis put his hands on his hips, laughing a short, disbelieving snort. “When did you get so
lazy
, boy?” His words were like hard, fast punches. I could see what he was doing to Wyatt, see the way the boy I loved most in the world withdrew into himself, and it hurt.

Lazy? Does he know his son? Does he know Wyatt works hard every second of every day?
I didn’t realize I was moving toward them until Dax grabbed my shoulders and held me back.

And then Travis Holcomb did a hundred-and-eighty-degree turnaround from prodding to pity. “You think I like busting my ass every goddamn day so you can come out here and…and not even
try?
”

“A complete and
total
asshole,” Dax whispered this time.

“No, sir.” Wyatt’s voice was low, hoarse—breaking my heart. Didn’t his father see how rigid Wyatt’s jaw was? How his hands pressed flat against his thighs, shaking? I didn’t know what to do. I just knew I wanted to do
something
.

“But I do it, don’t I?” Travis continued.

“Yes, sir,” Wyatt answered.

I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my head.
God, Wyatt. I…I’m here. And you’re not lazy, you’re wonderful and sweet and beautiful.
It was stupid to think
at
him, but I didn’t know what else to do.

“Yes sir.” Travis Holcomb shook his head. “No sir. You best get used to sayin’ ‘no sir’ and ‘yes sir,’ boy. If you’re gonna keep half-assing things here, you’ll end up taking orders at the Frosty Palace.” He paused. “No matter what that pretty little skirt might tell you.”

Wyatt’s head popped up, his hands fisting at his sides. And Travis Holcomb smiled, stepping closer to his son.

I felt sick to my stomach.
Am I the pretty little skirt? Am I causing these problems?
I felt really really sick.

Travis’s next words were low, taunting. “You even gonna ride tonight?”

I saw Wyatt close his eyes, straighten his shoulders, relax his hands. “Yes, sir.”

“
We-ell
. That’s good. Real good.” Travis clapped his son on the shoulder. “Who you ridin’?”

Wyatt didn’t look our way as his dad led him back to the pens.

“Dax,” I blustered, “he…that son of a bitch is Wyatt’s
father?
”

“I knew he was a dick, but wow.” Dax was just as stunned as I was. “I think we’d better give them space, Allie.”

“Obviously,” I muttered, staring after the tall, strong figure of Wyatt and the smaller frame of his father.

Dax made some dismissive noise, but I could tell he knew something. I looked at him, waiting. “Molly said Wyatt’s dad is trouble,” he finally said.

“That would have been news thirty minutes ago. Now, not so much. Nothing else?”

“He’s kind of the town drunk. Gets arrested, swears he’ll never drink again, gets released and hits the road. Molly said most people try to give him a break.”

“Why?” That didn’t make much sense to me.

Dax shrugged. “I don’t know. Because it’s a small town and people in small towns look after each other?” I must have looked a little suspicious because he laughed. “That’s all I’ve got.”

“The lazy thing.” My throat tightened. “God…I mean…God.” I shook my head, anger almost choking me. “Wyatt works harder than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“You’re not going to want to hear this, but stay out of it, Allie.” He nudged me. “Okay? We don’t know the whole story.”

I stopped, glaring at him. “Whole story? There’s a story that would make
that
,” I pointed in the direction Wyatt and his father had gone, “
fine?
Really? I can’t think of a single thing that makes any of that okay.”

Dax pulled on my arm. “I’m not disagreeing with you.”

“Good.” I didn’t want to argue. The only thing that mattered was telling Wyatt—when we were home—that he was doing a good job. That he was
amazing
.

“Allie, just…don’t get in the middle of it,” Dax went on.

And once I know
he
knows that he’s incredible, I’m going to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.
That was just what I was going to do. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Dax repeated.

I nodded. “
Fine
.” Tonight should be about Wyatt, about his successes. Whether or not his father wanted to give him props or not, I would. “We’ll enjoy the rest of the rodeo and track down Wyatt when this is over. Deal?”

“Hmm,” Dax murmured, not happy about my quick response.

I smiled at him and lined up for a funnel cake and lemonade. Maybe some sugar would chase away the lingering bad taste in my mouth. With a funnel cake in one hand and a huge frozen lemonade in the other, I scaled the bleachers. We’d lost our seats, but that was okay. I’d rather not sit in the same place, in case
Mr
. Holcomb decided to attack again.

We were up high, on the far left, right by the chutes for bull riding—which was up next. The speakers were blaring, making us wince at each other. But we sat, listening to the announcer joke back and forth with Cowboy Jack and two other, less-painted clowns down in the arena for bull reinforcement.

“We’re talking points tonight. We have two of the best all-around cowboys here, looking for big winnings. One wants to go to college to be a large animal veterinarian. The other, well, he wants a new truck.”

That caused a few laughs.

“First up, David Smith. Let’s see if a new truck is in this boy’s future. Can we hear it for this Dallas cowboy?”

The crowd clapped, some stomped their booted feet on the metal and wood bleachers, others whistled. The horn blasted, and David Smith and bull—a nasty-looking black thing—erupted from the chute in a cloud of dust.

“Whirlwind likes to spin,” the announcer commented as the bull did just that.

It looked like David’s ride was going to be fine, until Whirlwind slammed on the brakes and then took off in the opposite direction. Whirlwind went left, David went right—landing on his knee in a way that couldn’t be good. “Ooh!” the announcer called out, with half the crowd.

That was when the clowns kicked into high gear. David was pretty stunned, trying to push himself up in the dirt, while Whirlwind suddenly realized nothing was on his back. The clowns waved and ran in front of the snorting animal, leading it trotting into the exit chute and out of the arena. David stood, shook his head, dusted his hat against his leg, raised an arm to the crowd to let everyone know he was all right, and then made his way to the fence.

“Next up, a real treat, ladies and gents, a real treat. One-time Pro-Rodeo bull rider and helluva nice fellow, Shane Parker.” His ride was pretty amazing to watch. He seemed to know what the bull was going to do before it did it. His score was high, a 96. “Good thing he’s just here to get the crowd riled up,” the announcer said with a chuckle. “Too late to change your mind, Shane. Next up, a young all-around hoping to become a large animal veterinarian. I think we’ve got some folks from Texas A&M University here tonight to see him. I hear A&M has a pretty good vet school, is that right?”

A group in the bleachers to my right made a lot of noise. I laughed. A&M had one of the best vet schools in the country and everyone knew it.

“Show ’em what you’re made of, Wyatt,” the announcer went on. “I’m proud to say I’ve known this young man since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. When he started walking, his first pair of baby shoes was cowboy boots. When he could first sing a song, it was ‘Yellow Rose of Texas.’ And his first pet? Why, his roping horse, of course. Let’s hear it for Black Falls’ own Wyatt Holcomb.”

One wants to go to college to be a large animal veterinarian.
My stomach twisted and my lungs turned heavy. All I could think about was Wyatt. He was bull riding. He was riding a bull. And his dream school was here to watch.
You can do this.
“Shit,” I hissed, pressing my hands between my knees.

The horn blew and the chute opened. My ears were roaring, or maybe it was the crowd. I heard the announcer, “…on Rabbit. Why Rabbit? Well…just watch.”

How a fifteen-hundred-pound bull could spring up, almost vertical, again and again, was beyond me. But Rabbit did. The bull barely touched down before he was airborne again. And again. And again. All I could see was Wyatt, his right hand buried in rope and his left hand held high. When Rabbit went up, Wyatt leaned back. When Rabbit landed, Wyatt countered forward.

It was the longest eight seconds of my life. I could only imagine how Wyatt felt.

But he made it. He held on, and with style. He lost his glove when he jumped off, but he didn’t get tangled up or stepped on or gored. He landed, jumped out of the way of Rabbit, and turned to look at the scoreboard. He didn’t seem to be aware of the bull running around him or the clowns doing their best to guide the bull out. When the scores popped up, Wyatt took off his hat and beat it against his thigh.

“Ninety-four points! Let’s hear it for Wyatt Holcomb.” The announcer went on, “Ninety-four points. Great job, cowboy.”

My eyes were glued on him. He seemed…relieved. I jumped up, whistling like mad. He didn’t look at me this time. In fact, he turned away, heading out of the arena.

My heart twisted. I started down the bleachers, moving as quickly as I could without stepping on someone’s kid, beer, or purse. Once I was on the ground, I hurried to the end. I didn’t know where I was going, but I figured I’d find my way.

Behind the announcer’s podium were row after row of pens. Some held horses, some calves, some bulls, some sheep. Some were empty. And all along the fences were cowboys. Some had finished their turn, some were waiting, some sat on top of the fence, others leaned on them, just hanging out.

I ignored the “Hey, sugar,” from one particularly friendly cowboy and walked on, rounding the corner. For a minute I forgot about everything except Wyatt’s smiling face. He was talking to a group of men, very clean-cut, professional. I swallowed. They were wearing collegiate logo shirts—maroon. They laughed, at ease, joking.

Dax came up beside me, but I grabbed his arm. “We can’t interrupt.”

“That was fast,” Dax whispered, nodding toward the college recruiters. “Guess they liked what they saw.”

“Of course.” I glanced around. “But his dad…”