Thrown: Studs in Spurs, Book 6 (10 page)

Like balls in a pinball machine, all those questions and more bounced around in Riley’s brain as she wiped her eyes one more time and stood. She reached for the door and realized she was alone in the house, surrounded by nothing but acreage and animals. Whoever was at the door knocked again. It occurred to her they could do whatever they wanted to her and there was nothing she’d be able to do to stop them.

But nothing bad like that ever happened in this town. Fear and loneliness made a person paranoid. As she peered through the curtain on the door’s window and saw the preacher and his wife, she realized she’d been having crazy thoughts. Even so, later she’d get the shotgun from the closet and check if it was loaded.

God, this whole situation was surreal.

She pulled open the door and was enveloped in Mrs. Porter’s arms before she could even say hello. “Riley. I’m so sorry.”

The preacher stood slightly behind his wife, holding a cake covered in plastic wrap. “You have to know he’s in a better place.”

Riley pulled back from the hug and nodded. “I know.”

He held the cake plate out toward her, and Riley reached for it, watching her hands shake as she did. “Thank you.”

Cake. Like that would make her feel better after losing the last person in the world who was totally hers.

“People will be stopping by. To pay respects, to try and help you out. You’re going to need something to feed them when they do, and I don’t expect you have the time or the energy to go to the store or bake something.” Mrs. Porter rubbed Riley’s arm. The older woman continued, “I’ll be stopping back later with some dinners for you. You can pop them in the freezer and take them out as you need them.”

Dazed, Riley nodded. Of course, Mrs. Porter was right. She’d need to eat eventually. She’d need to feed the people who’d come by. “All right. Thank you.”

So much to think about. How would she ever handle it all? She realized she was standing in the doorway with a cake in her hands. “Sorry. Come on in.”

The preacher and his wife followed her inside, past the sofa where her father’s life had ended, and all the way to the kitchen.

“Do you know if Butch had plans in place?”

She put the cake down on the counter as she turned to the preacher. “Plans?”

He nodded. “For a funeral. Did he want to be buried or cremated?”

Her brow furrowed. How could he ask those questions so callously?

“Riley, these decisions have to be made today. They can’t wait.”

“I don’t know. We never talked about it.” Pushing aside her indignation, Riley knew he was right. She didn’t have time to grieve now. There were plans to be made. “I think he’d want to be buried next to my mother. How do I do that? Who do I talk to?”

She had no idea where to even start. Panic stole her breath as she reached for the edge of the table and sat.

The preacher squatted down so he was eye level with her. “I’ll take care of it, Riley. The funeral home will tell us when they will be ready for the wake. I’ll deal with the cemetery and schedule the burial. The church service, of course, will be no problem. We’ll fit it in.”

Tears swam in her eyes. “Thank you.”

He squeezed Riley’s hand. “It’s the least I can do.”

Mrs. Porter stepped closer. “And I’ll make the phone calls and let the newspaper know the date and times. Do you want to write the obituary or would you like me to do it?”

“I don’t know.” Riley looked up but couldn’t see Mrs. Porter through the blur of tears.

“How about I take a shot at it and you can make any changes you want before I send it in?”

“Okay. Thank you.” Their kindness, as much as the overwhelming amount of things to be done, was going to break her. She needed a few minutes alone. Riley stood. “I was just about to go check on the stock...”

“Of course.” The preacher stood. “You do what you need to do. We’ll head home and start organizing what we can.”

“Thank you.” She had a feeling she’d be thanking them, and many other people, a whole lot more before this nightmare was over. If it ever would be over.

Skeeter glanced at the computer screen and back to the piece of paper on the table next to him. He could easily do the Tupelo, Mississippi event. It was only three days away, but it wasn’t as if he had plans or anything else to do. That was July twenty-seventh and then the Arkansas event was a week later on August third.

He scowled at the screen. Most of the other events—California, Montana, Utah, Idaho—would be a heck of a drive to get to. Driving a long distance like that alone had never been his favorite thing. Though he hated to miss any opportunity to boost his points total.

Kansas on August seventh would work. Baton Rouge was doable, but that was much later in August. Looking back at the paper, he counted the events he’d marked down.

Four over the next month. It wasn’t enough, but it was the best he could do. “Crud.”

“What’s wrong, baby?”

He leaned back from the table. “It’s going to take forever for me to get back on the tour.”

“Anything worthwhile takes time.”

“I know.” He really didn’t agree, but what could he say?

It had come so easily for him in the beginning, his rapid rise through the ranks. It made his rapid descent feel doubly bad.

But if he’d learned anything from his mother while growing up in this house, it was that you had to look for a silver lining. Skeeter saw two immediately. Most of the other guys on the tour would take this mid-season break to relax. They’d go on vacation or hang out at home with family. Some had injuries that needed to heal so they’d rest during the break. They wouldn’t crisscross the country to hit every touring pro event possible like Skeeter was going to. That would give him the advantage, a chance to creep up on them in points and in the ranks.

Even though it looked as if he’d be off the circuit for longer than he wanted to be, maybe being home would give him time to figure out how to help Cooper. Skeeter still wasn’t sure what he could do, besides showing up on Cooper’s doorstep uninvited and eventually wearing out his welcome. He’d have to figure something out. All in good time.

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.