“I think she should do one,” Dead said, pouring a bag of colorful candies into his palm. Where had he even gotten those? His wranglers were too tight to hide a big bag of candy like that. Freaking candy magician.
“You’re supposed to eat well today,” she pointed out.
Rhonda had her backed into a corner along with her camera man. Cheyenne looked up to see how easily she could climb the chute walls in the stupidly fancy boots she’d decided to wear today to look cute for a bull shifter who was definitely not her boyfriend!
Dead appeared like an apparition, yanked her hand up, and poured Skittles into her palm. And there she stood, probably looking like a deer in headlights while holding a handful of rainbow sugar nuggets.
“I’ve been dying to ask what is going on with Two Shots Down. I’ve heard that you came out of retirement in order to manage him, but why manage the bull who killed your husband if there aren’t feelings involved there?”
“It’s business,” she said, eyeballing the space between Rhonda’s camera man and the open gate. Three more reporters were standing nearby, waiting for their interviews with Dead and Two Shots Down. And her, apparently. Grrrr. “I’m representing all three of the top bulls because I thought they deserved some representation. People don’t realize how hard it is to get to each event, plan all the travel, plan food, find help for their homes while they’re away. These are elite athletes who have been essentially moving through this industry alone with no help, while the riders aren’t expected to manage all that on their own. They are given relief. That’s my job. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m just trying to simplify the lives of these men and take some of the work from them so they can focus on training and bucking.”
Movement caught her eye, and she stretched her neck to look around Rhonda just in time to see a grinning Dead of Winter disappearing into the bull pens. Sonofabitch, he’d done this on purpose to escape his interviews.
“Have you had a chance to spend time with the bulls you manage outside of events?”
“A little when we had our initial meetings about the contracts, but not during the week. We all live separate lives in different places.”
“You and Two Shots Down only live a few hours away from each other. Do you visit his ranch?”
“Okay, this interview is over.”
“What do you think about him dating Noni? Two Shots is known as a player but—”
“He’s not dating anyone, and if he was, that would be no one’s business. Not even mine. He deserves privacy on his personal life. He’s here to buck. Ask me anything about bucking or what these boys will be aiming for in the future, but love lives are off limits.”
“Here we have footage of him taking her by the hand into a hotel where you were also allegedly staying. Did you see her that night? Did you spend time with them?”
Anger flared in her chest. “What are you asking? If we had a threesome? Is that really a question anyone cares anything about?”
“Yes,” Rhonda and her cameraman both said in unison.
“No, I’ve never had a threesome. I haven’t been with anyone since my husband passed. There. Now you can stomp out the rumors. My legs have been closed like a beartrap because I wasn’t ready to lose my heart again. So, no, I didn’t spend time with Noni that night. The boys I represent are free to have a life outside of this arena. Excuse me.” She pushed past Rhonda and right out of the chute she’d been backed into.
“Does it sting to lose Two Shots to the barrel racer that came right up behind you and took your place in the circuit?”
She could hear Two Shots’ voice in her head. You hold their gaze, you grit your teeth, and you stay in the moment. You’re good, Cheyenne. She rounded on the reporter. “Here is how these interviews will go from here on. You will ask questions pertaining to the reason we are all here, which is bull shifter riding, or you will not get interviews.”
Rhonda’s eyes flashed with challenge. “The top riders and bulls are required to do interviews—”
“You think I give a shit about those rules, Rhonda?” Her voice echoed through the arena. “I don’t, and I can’t express this enough—I don’t give a single shit about your rumor mill. You want gossip? Okay. Make it all up. Fill in the blanks. I’m sleeping with all the bulls. Go spread it around. It doesn’t make any of it true. I’m interested in truth. I’m interested in this circuit and the work I can do to get the bulls the recognition they’ve worked their asses off to receive. This isn’t about me, or my love life, or Two Shots’ love life. It’s about how hard those boys are gonna go tomorrow night to get those riders off their backs. I am proud to manage them. I got the three baddest bulls in the world prepping for the first Battle of the Bulls event tomorrow, and that’s where we are keeping our heads. Not on gossip. The interviews are over for today.” She gave Rhonda one last glare before she turned on her heeled boot and walked for the gate.
“We will be happy to give interviews if you can treat us like you treat the humans,” she told the interviewers waiting off to the side with their cameramen. “I’ve never in my life heard an interviewer ask one of the riders about their love lives.”
“We used to ask Tarik about you,” one of the old-timers pointed out.
“Yeah,” she snapped, her voice shaking. “What good did those interviews do me? Huh? Now every time anything comes up about me, those interviews are played. I cry, I remember, and I hurt. It’s all over the TV every time I’m mentioned. Any time Tarik is mentioned. Can’t you understand that I want to be okay?”
The small crowd finally lowered their gazes. Good. Ross, that old-timer, was still fighting for the story, though. Softly, he said, “Cheyenne, we all respect what you’ve been through, but this is our job. The circuit is taking off, catching fire, and we have a good lookin’ bull shifter with a bad attitude who killed your husband, and we got you, returning after falling off the face of the planet to work with him, and outside of these arenas? That gritty personal story is what people want to see.”
“She already said her piece,” Two Shots Down rumbled.
Cheyenne gasped and startled. Good grief, where had he come from? The crowd in front of her jumped, too.
He was up behind the chutes, leaning on the metal railing, his white cowboy hat pulled down low over dark brown eyes. He had a presence about him that weighed heavy on the air. She could feel it in her chest, as if something massive was sitting on her. It was hard to draw a single breath.
He. Looked. Pissed.
“My turn.” He jumped over the chute, clearing it easily, and his boots hit the arena dirt with barely any impact. Too graceful and too predatory to be human, he strode for them and stood beside Cheyenne, towering over her. “Ask me whatever questions you want,” he dared them, splaying his legs and clasping his hands in front of him. He lifted his chin and looked down his nose at them. “Anything. Go on.”
He was met with dead silence.
“You just called this interview to waste my time then?” he asked. “I just got off a plane. I hate flying. I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable for any bull shifter to fly. Can you imagine it? Can you use your little imaginations for it? Can you envision how it would feel to control a monster inside of you while you sit crammed in a little sardine-can plane, crowded by a bunch of humans? Only you can hear better, smell better, and sense everything happening around you from the tiniest cough to the loudest conversation. And all you want to do is get to the arena so you can make sure your team is good. But then you have to hear interviewers riling up your agent with questions that are none of your goddamn business.” He gestured to Cheyenne. “This is my team. That?” He gestured to Quickdraw and Dead who had appeared like ghosts near the gate, leaning on it like they’d been there the whole time. “Those are my team in a way. We are trying to do something no other bull shifters have had the chance to try, so no. We won’t let the focus shift to our personal lives if we can help it. We’re doing something bigger for the circuit. We’re three competitors trying to support each other.” He jammed his finger at Quickdraw and Dead. “Look at those idiots. That’s the story. I hate them.”