Jason Till applied the brakes on his truck at the crosswalk, allowing a group of older women holding bakery bags to cross the street. His stomach grumbled at the thought of fresh baked goods. He could almost taste the sugar. He’d not eaten since the fast-food breakfast sandwich early that morning in some small town off I-35. If he had a dollar for every time he’d grabbed a quick meal in such a place, he’d be stinking rich.
One of the women crossing the street smiled and gave him a big, friendly wave. He chuckled a little and waved back. Then he took his foot off the brake and slowly rolled on down Main Street, glancing briefly at the Welcome, Cowboys and Cowgirls sign that hung above the street, advertising the rodeo that would start in just a few hours.
He’d been to more small towns across the country than he could count, some of which had definitely seen better days. But Blue Falls, Texas, seemed to have a booming downtown judging by the number of people he noticed going in and out of the various businesses and walking along the sidewalks. He spotted everything from clothing shops to a bookstore to an old-fashioned hardware store that reminded him of the one he’d gone to as a little kid with his grandfather the few times he’d visited his mom’s parents in Alabama. And the bakery sat at the corner of a cross street, tempting him to make a pit stop.
His stomach rumbled, more insistent this time, but he drove on past in favor of getting to the fairgrounds and signing in for the competition. He’d grab something there. He had no doubt there would be at least one concession stand where he could pick up a burger or some barbecue. If he did well this weekend, he’d treat himself to the biggest cinnamon roll the Mehlerhaus Bakery had. He’d bet good money they had one damn near the size of a hubcap. This was Texas, after all.
As he pulled into the fairgrounds, he was surprised to see how many people were there already. Next to the area filled with pickups, RVs and horse trailers was a field covered with lines of open tents. Not the kind that people camped in but rather ones used for festival booths. Looked as if the people of Blue Falls were going all out for rodeo weekend.
From what he’d heard from other riders, Blue Falls had regular rodeos with a lot of the proceeds going to local charities and community improvement projects. But this weekend’s event was the first time organizers had offered a purse sizable enough to really attract extra notice from those trying to up their standings and move another step closer to competing at the Finals in Vegas in December. Which was his ultimate goal. After years of clawing his way to this point, he finally had a second shot at the Finals. He’d made it three years ago, barely, but had ended up in next-to-last place. This year might be his last viable chance, so he had to make the most of it. Choose the most advantageous rodeos to compete in, ride in each one as if it were the Finals and not let anything get in his way.
And a nice payday was always pretty darn attractive. After all, if he was going to spend his career staring at highways, the dirt of arena floors and the backsides of steers, he’d like to be paid well for it.
He found a spot next to the pickup Bo Whittaker had been driving since Jason wrestled his first steer on the pro circuit. Bo was a bareback rider who had a good five years on Jason’s own thirty, and he showed zero signs of retiring anytime soon. Bo was one of those guys Jason couldn’t imagine doing anything other than rodeo, much like his own family. Hanging out with Bo was a bit like being with his dad, who’d also been a bareback rider before he’d had to retire from competition due to injury. Except the age difference, of course, and the fact that Jason’s parents had been married since they were nineteen and Bo was a confirmed bachelor. Not that Bo didn’t like the ladies, because that also wasn’t in doubt.
Jason ran into the man himself as he was leaving the sign-in area. Bo held up a paper-wrapped sandwich half the size of his head.
“You gotta try one of these barbecue sandwiches,” Bo said. “I’d sell my own grandma for one of these.”
Jason laughed. “I have a feeling your grandma would have something to say about that.”
Bo nodded. “She’d probably whack me upside the head with her cane.”
Jason had met Bo’s grandma and could totally see that happening.
He took his friend’s advice and plunked down some cash for a huge pulled pork barbecue sandwich and a freshly squeezed lemonade. He took a bite while waiting for his change. His taste buds woke up from hibernation and sang a hymn glorifying the sandwich.
“Good stuff,” he said to the woman who returned with his change. “Used to beef in Texas, but this hits the spot.”
“My daddy was from West Tennessee and made a mean pork barbecue. I do my part to convert all these beef folk,” she said.
Jason smiled. “Good luck with that.”
He was pretty sure the state animal of Texas was a longhorn, and that wasn’t just because they loved football.
Trying not to gobble down his sandwich like some sort of ravenous beast, he wandered toward the arena. A few people were already seated in the grandstands—diehards who’d arrived early to pick their favorite spots.
He took another swig of his lemonade as he eyed the arena. Pretty typical for an outdoor facility in a small town—dirt that had been worked loose on top of the hardpan beneath, ad banners affixed along the perimeter fencing, stock pens behind the chutes, large arena lights that would attract thousands of bugs once night fell.
His gaze halted when he spotted a woman leading a group of eight kids from the barn area toward the stock pens. He could tell she was talking to them as she pointed toward the still-empty pens. Was she a teacher and this some sort of school trip?
When the woman turned toward the arena, he got a better look at her. Though her face was partly shaded by her light-colored cowgirl hat, he could tell she was pretty. A blond braid descended to just below her shoulders. Her jeans appeared to fit her long legs to nice effect.
He spotted Bo back toward the barns, and something about the idea of him approaching this woman and the trailing youngsters had Jason tossing his now-empty cup and sandwich wrapper into the trash barrel and heading toward them.
“See that area there?” she said to the kids as Jason drew close enough to hear her. “That’s where the cowboys wait their turn to ride in their events.”
“Are they scared?” one little boy asked.
“Maybe sometimes,” the woman said.
“Nah, we’re too crazy to be scared,” Jason said as he rested one arm along the top of the metal fencing that made up the stock pens.
The woman turned toward him, tipping back the front brim of her hat a bit. He had the urge to laugh at the way her eyebrows bunched together, but some sense of self-preservation told him that was a bad idea.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Saw you all over here and thought I’d say hello and ask if I can help you out.”
Her expression eased slightly. “We’re just doing a tour of the facilities before the rodeo gets under way.”
“Are you a rodeo cowboy?” a little girl he’d guess was maybe eight or nine years old asked.
“I am.” He extended his hand to the girl. “I’m Jason. What’s your name?”
The girl stared at his hand then up at the woman. When the blonde placed her palm against the child’s back and nodded once, the girl extended her tiny hand and shook his.
“Phoebe.”
Thinking maybe he looked intimidating to someone so much shorter than he was and being a stranger