Nobody got between Beefcake and Plum.
“Beautiful afternoon for a race,” Doug commented. “I added amethyst crystals to Ace’s pack to harness positive energy and good luck. But I really don’t need it. Burro racing is in my blood.”
“Yep,” Libby replied politely.
Doug sized him up, then set his sights on Libby. “The offer is still open to get together after the race. I leave for Tibet the day after tomorrow, and I’d hate to not act on our connection.”
Their connection?
There was no bloody connection.
“The universe brought us to Rickety Rock. You can feel it, can’t you, Libby? The energy is calling out to us. I’d love to take you to my special vortex viewing spot.”
Special vortex viewing spot?
What a heap of bullshit.
“Let’s see how the race goes,” Libby answered.
Raz tightened his grip on Beefcake’s lead as the dueling male donkeys traded ominous brays and Plum set her sights on a pair of birds, frolicking in the air. The Jennie seemed oblivious to Ace and Beefcake’s antics as they jockeyed for her attention.
Beefcake sidestepped, giving Ace a good shove.
Nice one!
Ace, in turn, opened his giant donkey mouth, groaned in protest, then snapped at Beefcake before craning his neck and rubbing against Plum.
The wanker donkey!
Watching this ass move in on his Plum proved to be too much for Beefcake. Beefcake lunged at Ace, sinking his teeth into the donkey’s neck. Ace clinked and clattered as his array of purple crystals jostled like a beaded curtain. The beasts went back and forth, kicking up dust as the rabble-rousing animals engaged in donkey combat.
“Get your donkey under control,” Doug bit out, straining to rein in Ace.
“Your donkey could use some bloody manners. Look at him, rubbing on Plum. She’s not his. Beefcake had to defend her honor,” he hissed back.
Doug huffed. “She could be his. He’s donkey enough for her.”
Raz leaned in. “Could not. She’s Beefcake’s girl.”
“Plum is her own donkey,” Libby chided as the male burros continued to clash, biting and snapping like two backstreet brawlers.
The men pulled their donkeys apart as Maud stood on a platform with a megaphone in one hand and a bell in the other.
“Welcome to Rickety Rock’s Ass-in-Nine Pack Burro Race. Our competitors and their burros honor Colorado mining tradition by completing the nine-mile Crooked Mine Loop. There will only be one racing team crowned the winner. Runners and burros, this is it,” Maud instructed.
Raz glanced over his shoulder. There had to be thirty teams, possibly more. But Doug and Ace appeared to be his main competition.
“We finish this on the trail,” he said under his breath to Zen Dougie.
“The trail,” the man echoed.
Raz barely had a second to meet Libby’s gaze. Wide-eyed, she stared at him. This was it—the moment that would decide what happened next for them.
The universe was about to cast its verdict.
Libby would be his, or she wouldn’t.
“Three, two, one! Go, Ass-in-Nine!” Maud called, ringing the bell over her head.
In a blur of dust and hooves and pounding feet, a sea of runners yelled hup-hup, and they were off.
Twenty-Five
Erasmus
“Let’s do this!” Raz clicked his tongue and signaled for Beefcake to, literally and figuratively, haul ass.
He could hear the cheers, but he’d learned to turn off the external noise and draw his power inward, thanks to practicing Pun-chi yoga. Right off the line, he and Zen Dougie were the front-runners, with Libby not far behind. He could hear her encouraging Plum as one mile became two, then four, then six. Neck and neck, he and Doug rocketed down the trail, neither letting up.
A battle of wills played out between them, with Libby as the ultimate prize.
Good old Dougie might not have a clue about the benchmark experiment, but his interest in Libby was undeniable.
“You might want to pace yourself, this being your first Ass-in-Nine,” Doug bit out between breaths as they passed the marker for mile seven.
There were only two miles to go, but these last two miles were the most harrowing and contained the rockiest terrain and a creek crossing. It was safe to say, barreling through this segment of the Crooked Mine Loop wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Raz smirked. He had plenty of juice left in his tank, and Zen Dougie’s trash talk was the stuff of little old ladies. “Remember who won the last race,” he tossed back.
“I’m just saying, the last two miles are the toughest.”
“Maybe for you, but not for me and Beefcake.”
Beefcake whinnied a triumphant sound. Like their human counterparts, the burros hadn’t let up. Anytime the trail narrowed, the Jacks nipped at each other, grunting and carrying on in their alpha donkey dialogue.
“What’s your donkey’s deal anyway? Why’s he such an ass? Pun intended,” Raz pressed, looking to get under the man’s skin. If he riled up his rival, there was a good chance the man would allow his emotions to drain his energy reserves. It was a trick that worked wonders in the ring.
“Ace likes Plum. That’s all there is to it. Donkeys are territorial. He wants her for himself.”
“Well, she’s Beefcake’s companion. Ace can’t have her,” Raz replied, and unfortunately, he found his emotions taking hold.
“Are you sure about that?” Doug bit out as they navigated a rocky incline. “Plum’s been with him all summer, and she still let Ace nuzzle up against her.”
Raz clicked his tongue, dialing up the pace, moving from rock to rock. “That doesn’t mean she likes him.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t not like him. She could like them both,” Doug replied through tight breaths.
What a bloody bonkers observation.
“No, she’s being cordial to Ace. It’s her nature to be kind.”
Dougie huffed. “Donkeys aren’t cordial.”
“How do you know?” Raz squawked.
“My family runs a donkey rescue. I know,” Doug replied with the maturity of a five-year-old.
Dammit! In his quest to agitate the Zen prat, he’d gotten himself running hot.
And speaking of hot, a cluster of butterflies zoomed past them, riding the warm mountain breeze. He looked over his shoulder, praying that Plum wouldn’t lose her donkey mind over the insects. The butterflies flitted into the grasses, and he resumed pecking away at Doug. “I figured you were too busy teaching yoga to rich old birds in Aspen to worry about shoveling donkey shit.”
Doug bobbed from a large stone to the dirt trail, avoiding another group of butterflies.
The damn things were everywhere.
“Maybe I do spend a lot of time in Aspen,” Doug conceded. “But I still know more than you do when it comes to donkeys and what makes them happy.”
“Ace couldn’t make Plum happy if his donkey life depended on it,” Raz growled. “There’s one donkey for her, and it’s Beefcake.”
“We’ll see about that,” Doug shot back, batting a butterfly out of the way.
Seriously, where the hell did these insects come from?