Page 20 of Storm Warning
“Silent type, ain’t he?” I glance at Sawyer, though I don’t really need the confirmation. “Makes sense y’all get along.” We both let out a puff of amusement.
Billy walks toward us, taking a second to look at the barn, no doubt where he had expected to be after he got here. He bears a five o’clock shadow, and though I bet he’s only a few years older than me, he seems to carry the weight of a man twice my age. Stuck in his thoughts, always seemingly thinking about something or someone more important. Similar toSawyer, he isn’t the flashy type. He doesn’t go out of his way to be noticed but, unlike Sawyer, he seems colder, more cut off.
“How’s it going?” His tone is gruff and hard to read, but sounds the same as it always does.
“Thought it was a nice day for some ropin’. Figured ya might be interested.” I try not to push him, in case he would rather be on his way.
Raising his arm to scratch his neck, I look over the tattoos on his dark complexion. Black and gray ink covers his forearm up past his elbow, but I can’t quite make out the designs.
“Uh, yeah, sure. Not playing for money, are we?” Sawyer lets out a breath and Billy laughs for the first time since I’ve met him. “Because Sawyer is not good.” He chuckles again.
I look from Sawyer to Billy. “Huh, then maybe we should.” I raise my hand up, pretending to whisper, but purposely speaking loud enough for Sawyer to hear. “Let’s have him bet somethin’ big, I’d sure look good behind the wheel of that Bronco.”
Sawyer takes the heat with stride, laughing as he crosses his arms over his chest before leaning back against the fence. “Good thing I’ve been hiding talents from you this long, Billy. I’m about to be the proud owner of two rusty trucks and anything else you two fools want to lose.”
Billy nods, an appreciative smile on his face.
“Boys, boys, the confidence is inspirin’, but so is my kindness. Trust me, neither of ya want to be bettin’ shit.” Cockiness flows out of me, reminding me of how it felt to bullshit around with the guys before each ride. A sigh escapes me as I attempt to dislodge rodeos from my thoughts and to keep the sadness of their absence at bay.
“Hey, I didn’t say I wanted to bet shit against you, PABRA star.” Billy isn’t defensive, just honest. No, nonsense.
Holding my breath, I hope he doesn’t go into some fit about me disappearing or how big of a fan he is. My palmssweat at the mention of who I am, or who I was. Trying to play it cool, I grin back at him, “Well, someone’s gotta win Sawyer his damn vehicle back.”
“Grab the ropes, I’m going to beat both your asses now that you teamed against me.” Sawyer cuts the tension that maybe only I created in my head.
We each file in through the side gate of the corral next to the barn. Walking over to one of the posts, I grab the ropes I had set out earlier and toss one to Sawyer.
Sawyer sets up about ten feet behind the dummy, holding the rope coiled in his left hand as he spins it above his head with his right. It revolves numerous times before I lose count, and I bite back the urge to tell him to trust his gut and throw it. No need to hold on for that long.
Between that and the angle of his elbow, it isn’t a surprise that the throw doesn’t land. I may shine when it comes to bulls, but roping is in my blood, it’s as second nature to me as breathing.
“Holy hell.” I pat him on the back with a laugh. “Thank God ya like singin’, Sawyer, because your ropin’ skills wouldn’t even beat kids in the youth division.”
Pulling in the coils, he shakes his head. “I’m a bit rusty.”
“About as rusty as Rhett’s truck.” Despite his hoarse voice, the smile on Billy’s face is warm, lighthearted. “You sure you don’t want a little oil for those joints before you go again?”
Sawyer readies himself, this time focusing more on his form. “A couple more throws and you’ll wish you hadn’t bet me anything." Keeping his eye on the prize, he lets go and ropes the dummy just how I expected him to. “Alright I’ve got it. Someone else’s turn.”
Billy practices a few times and I forgo my chance. I don’t need it.
“Who’s up for a game of Pig?” They both look at me likeI’m nuts. “It’s just like the basketball version, but ropin’ instead. Whoever loses mucks the stalls.”
“I’m in,” They answer in unison, both sounding determined.
“If ya don’t land your shot ya get a letter no matter what. No repeat tricks. Who wants to go first?”
“I will.” Still holding his rope, Sawyer looks around to choose where he wants to start.
He moves toward the fence, climbing up the rungs. With a few swings of the rope, he jumps and releases the lasso from his hand. He misses and nearly trips when he lands, sending us all into a fit of laughter.
“P,” I sing out.
Deciding to go next, I walk out in the dirt and do my best attempt at a cartwheel, throwing the rope when I hit an upward position. As expected, it lands exactly where I intended, and much to my shock, Sawyer’s does too, but Billy’s doesn’t.
“Makin’ it too easy for ya, aren’t I, Sawyer?” There’s humor in my words as I speak. “Ya talked a big game Billy boy, but ya musta forgot to bring it with ya.”
Billy blows out a breath, looking around like something will spark an idea. “This next shot will put both yours to shame.” Taking his leave from the group, he stands a few feet from the plastic bull, climbs up the fence, facing away from it and does a backflip, roping the dummy once he hits the ground and swivels toward it.
