A picture came through from Cheyenne, and Two Shots Down’s heart beat faster as he sat up straight and set his beer down so he could zoom in.
It was a picture of Cheyenne’s hand, graceful fingers wrapped around the stem of a glass of red wine. Her nails were painted a different color from last week—light pink. She was sitting on a porch, and the yard behind the glass of wine was ankle high with weeds and dandelions. There was an old oak in the yard, the roots of which had overgrown and ripped up a cracked sidewalk. He could just see the back end of her Expedition parked on the street, and a row of small houses lined the other side of the street, but were so blurred he could barely make them out.
This was Cheyenne’s home, right? Or was she at a man’s house? Possessiveness, deep and dark, roiled through his stomach, and the bull inside of him snorted. What the hell? Where had that come from? She wasn’t his.
He chewed on his thumbnail. He hadn’t responded to the loop all week because he had a plan to keep feelings from lingering between him and Cheyenne. Talking would only make him want her more, and she deserved a better life than the one he could give her. She deserved better than the mess that always seemed to hover around him. She deserved better than the man who killed her man.
But something deep in his gut had to know. Had to.
Is that home? Send.
Yes, she replied. For now. My lease is up in a month. I’m renting it.
Dead sent a picture of a bar top with shelves of whiskey lined in front of him. In his hand was a half-full shot glass. My home, he said.
Quickdraw sent a picture of his heavily tattooed hand flipping off a bucking chute. He must’ve been training tonight. And that drive right there is what made him the number one bull right now.
Two Shots Down lifted his beer and took a picture of it. The horses were on the other side of the pasture, but the sunset was still pretty. Send.
Wow, Dead messaged. The elusive Two Shots Down outs his ranch. I’m sending this to the hot reporter for KHH.
And just like that, I’ll never share another picture again. Send.
Good, Quickdraw said. This is fuckin’ weird. I’m leaving the loop.
I’ll just add you back. Again. From Cheyenne.
Don’t add him back. I’m tired of his middle fingers at two in the morning. They always wake me up, Dead announced.
Idiot. Now Quickdraw was probably gonna set alarms every hour at night to annoy them all the more. Dead was a good bucker, but he had no brain cells firing sometimes.
Gotta go, hot chick at the bar started talking to me, Dead said.
Make good decisions, Cheyenne advised him.
She got the eggplant emoji back from Dead, and Two Shots caught himself grinning. Grinning. Him.
He went and named the group The Asshole Herd and opened a new text. This time it was just Cheyenne he messaged. You need to mow your yard. Send.
My lawn mower is broken. Stop harshing my mellow. And besides, maybe I like weeds.
Where is home? Send.
If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.
You could try. I heal fast so you’ll have to poison me or something. Send.
I could do that with my cooking. I burned a microwave dinner tonight. She added the eyeroll emoji, and he laughed.
Him. Laughed. Out loud. Damn near startled himself with the noise. I’m drinking my dinner tonight. Send.
You’re drinking my favorite kind of beer. And your pasture is beautiful. That’s one helluva place to call home.
Did you look at the picture more than once? Send.
Why did he ask that? Why? He was breaking his rules.
Yes. Did you look at mine more than once?
Looking at it a second time now. Send.
Why are you drinking your dinner, Two? You should be doing high protein today and tomorrow. I’ve been a super nerd, researching nutrition for you boys. I have readymade high protein meals being delivered to you starting next week. They’re already ordered. It won’t cover every meal, but just for the days y’all are busy and don’t have time to cook. You can freeze them and heat them when you need it.
I get nervous. He took a drink of his beer, finger hovering over the send button. Then…send.
Nervous about events?
Yeah. I have a process. The night before I travel to an event, I can’t eat much. I drink beer to calm down. Send.
I used to do that before events for barrel racing. What else do you do for your process?
No drinking the day of except for the two shots of whiskey before I buck. When I get to the arena, I find a quiet place and listen to music and play out the buck in my head. I research the rider, know their weaknesses, so I come up with a game plan and replay it over and over and over. I warm up in the chutes before the crowd shows to loosen my muscles, especially if I’m sore from the last buck. I stay away from the riders. Try not to fight beforehand. Save energy. Eat good by myself somewhere when the crowds are filling the seats. My blood starts boiling as I listen to the rodeo noises getting louder and louder. I get filled with hate. Send.
You think about your dad any?
Smart girl. She’d paid attention to the chip on his shoulder.
Every time I buck. It starts the rage. Send.
Montana.
What? Send.
I live in Montana too. I live three hours away from you.
He finished off his beer and rested his elbows on his bent knees. I’m missing the whole sunset staring at my phone.
I’m missing the same one.
His smile felt so good, but he was breaking his rules. Sleep good tonight. Big day tomorrow.
Bigger day for you. Night, Two Shots.
I’m kinda ready to see you tomorrow. Delete delete delete. The pink is pretty on your nails. Delete delete delete. Night. Send.
Chapter Nine
Landed safe. Already on my way. Be there in a few.
Cheyenne blew out a long breath of relief and read the text twice more. Two Shots had let her know he had landed and now she was so excited and nervous to see him. Soon. So soon.
“And then that heifer told me I have to trim my beard shorter,” Dead tattled to the interviewer, who was standing next to him in the arena, right in front of the chute he would be bucking out of tomorrow.
She typed out, Dead has been crap-talking me his entire interview and Quickdraw didn’t even bother to show up for his interviews. I’d say week one is going well. Send.
Want me to kill them?
She laughed, but it fell back into her lungs when she realized she didn’t actually know if he was joking or not.
“Like…look at her. She’s supposed to be managing me and she’s over there on her phone with her boyfriend,” Dead said, gesturing to her.
And there was the blush again, spreading fire straight up her neck and into her cheeks. “W-what? I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Rumor patrol says you do.”
“Dead, shut up.”
“See how she talks to me? I never saw the rider’s agents talking to them like that.”
The interviewer was a pro on this circuit named Rhonda and was practically beaming at the juicy goods Dead was giving her. Dead was grinning like a buffoon. She thought. His beard was even thicker since last week. Maybe he really was taking those hair growth vitamins.
“All right folks, the talk of the town revolves around this one right here,” Rhonda said into the camera as she moved toward Cheyenne.
“No, no, no,” Cheyenne said, holding her hand out as she backed straight into an open chute. “I’m not doing interviews. This is about the bulls.”