“Because you should take stock of what he really is.”
“I know what he is! I’ve seen all three of you buck a hundred times each.”
“Nah, you haven’t really put it together, Cheyenne. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”
“That’s enough—”
“You’re damn right it is,” Quickdraw growled. He jammed a finger at Two Shots’ receding back. “He changes into an animal, Cheyenne. An animal. What’s the end game, huh? You convince the world you being together ain’t wrong as hell? You take on the media and gossip of you dating the man who killed Tarik? You run the circuit like king bull and queen agent and live happily ever after?” Quickdraw shook his head. “Nah, here’s what your future really looks like. We have expiration dates in this game, so the money will run out. You’ll be dragged through that media like it’s a meat grinder, and you will come out on the other side even more damaged, even more hurt. You will give up your life as you know it just to follow a bull shifter around the circuit until he’s injured, which could happen tomorrow or three years from now, who knows? But he will be injured. He won’t even get his first gray hair before his knees are shot. You want marriage? He wouldn’t put his last name on you if you begged for it. That’s a curse. You met his daddy? The one that gave him his last name?”
Stunned, she shook her head.
“Look up Denim Dodger.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered, dragging her attention to where Two Shots was pulling the gate open for Dead to buck. “His dad is The Dodger?”
“Yup. You want babies? You’ll have to give them your last name. Two won’t shame you or your children with his daddy’s last name. And if you had kids? Every one of them will be a bull or cow shifter. They won’t be human. And it’s not like there werewolves, where they’re still hiding from the public. We are out there. Your babies will be gawked at their entire lives, and it’ll eat you up inside to watch it. They won’t be like you. Do you really think he’ll want to curse a kid with that? Think again, Cheyenne. You got dreams? Those will get eaten up in the tornado of dating a bull shifter. Nothing will turn out the way you hope. That’s in our nature.”
“What’s in your nature?”
“To destroy.” He huffed a soft breath. “Do yourself a favor, Cheyenne. Stop falling.”
She didn’t understand and shook her head slightly.
Quickdraw narrowed his eyes at Two Shots, who was climbing the fence easily to get out of Dead’s way. “Stop falling for him. Find someone like Tarik. Choose a human.”
Find someone like Tarik? But…she hadn’t been enough for Tarik. With Two Shots, she felt different. She felt good about herself, and happy.
“Hey, Cheyenne?” Quickdraw asked.
“Yeah?”
“Two Shots can hear every word I’ve said, and he didn’t argue with a single one. Let that sink in.”
Heart in her throat, she looked over at Two Shots, now sitting on the top of the fence, staring right at her with a somber look in his dark eyes.
Dead’s monstrous bull was bucking like there was no tomorrow so she backed out of the arena and closed the gate behind her.
She stared down at her red tank top she’d worn today. Red was her color. She’d worn it so maybe Two Shots would think she looked okay. She’d worn it because Quickdraw was right—she was falling. But…
Everything was okay.
Everything was fine.
So why did it feel like her heart was in the arena dirt behind her right now?
She closed her eyes tightly and blew out a steadying breath. No family, no kids, no future with Two Shots, and it was okay. Everything was okay. She’d been stupid to fall into a crush like this anyway. This—all the butterflies, the pounding heartbeat when he touched her, the shy smiles, the thinking about him constantly—that was teenage love. She was grown, a woman, too mature for a crush like that. Definitely too mature. She’d been a stupid woman for falling like that.
Focus on what you can control. Deep breath. Be there for the boys through their training. Get them through this weekend.
She pulled out a flask and a plastic shot glass that said Bulls deep with a cartoon picture of a bull’s nutsack. She made her way down the fence line to where Two Shots Down was sitting. When Dead was done with his first buck, Two Shots pulled off his thin gray T-shirt and dropped it in the dirt on her side of the fence. She picked it up and smiled at him. So what if her smile shook a little?
“I brought you a warm-up,” she murmured, handing him the flask and silly shot glass.
His somber expression morphed to a crooked smile as he read the shot glass. He laughed, a deep, rich sound. If homecoming were a sound, it would be Two Shots’ laugh.
“Whatcha got in there to go with this weird shot glass?” he asked.
God, she was so relieved he was back to his playful self already. “Pendleton.”
His smile stretched bigger. “That’s my favorite whiskey. Are you stalking me?”
“Yep. It’s part of my job to stalk you.” She handed up the flask. “You take two shots before every buck. That’s where you got your name.”
“You know my dad, don’t you?” he asked.
She sighed and leaned her elbows on the fence, watched Dead’s bull saunter back into the chute. “I never met him. He was before my time in rodeo, but I’ve heard of him. Everyone’s heard of him.”
“Somehow, with my dad’s help, I’ve managed to keep that from public knowledge.”
“With your dad’s help?” she asked.
“He doesn’t claim me either. Never came to see me buck. Never showed up at the same rodeo as me.”
Denim Dodger, one of the original bad-boy bull shifters in the circuit, had jet black hair, bright blue eyes, and a thick beard. Back in his prime, the ladies had fallen over themselves just to be close to him. He was shorter than Two Shots but stockier. “You don’t look like him,” she pointed out. “That probably helps keep your secret, too.”
“I look like my mom, thank God. I can’t imagine having to answer questions about my dad in interviews. He would be thrown in my face all the time. I have no interest in his name. I only have interest in building mine.”
A wave of pride unfurled in her chest. Two Shots surprised her in a lot of good ways. “You’re a rare one.”
“Nah.”
“I’m not blowing smoke,” she murmured, tracking Quickdraw as he approached the chute gate to lock Dead in. “People nowadays look for any stepping-stone up. Anything to get them where they’re going even faster. Not you. Even though you didn’t have to, you started from scratch to build your own legacy. Because you did it the hard way, you never had to outlive the shadow of your dad because you never stepped into it. Everything you have is on your own grit. I respect that.”
He tossed his first shot back and then cocked his head down at her. “That feels kinda good.”
“The whiskey burn?”
“Earning your respect.” He jumped off the high arena fence and landed in the arena so that the metal fence separated them now. He poured another shot, but he didn’t drink it. Instead, he handed it through the slats to her. And then he tinked the flask against the fence in front of her. “To respect.”