The spring schedule was set. Bullet would be moving broncs from the Crested Butte operation to Patterson Ranch in Black Forest later in the month. Next month, he’d move more broncs to Black Forest from Jace Rice’s place in Montana.
Doing it now would give him time to evaluate the stock and determine which horses he and Bill would take to each of the events before the rodeo season kicked into high gear.
“You sure about this?” Bullet asked Bill when the bronc meeting broke up.
“About what specifically?”
“All of it.”
Bill smiled at Dottie, who had been in the meeting with the rest of the Flying R partners. “Been a long time since my girl and I traveled the rodeo circuit. We made a lot of friends over the years, some we haven’t seen since Billy retired from ridin’.”
Bullet shook his head. “I don’t get it. Billy tells me you aren’t keen on what you call modern rodeo, yet your son was a national saddle bronc champion. Where’s the disconnect?”
Before Bill could answer, Dottie rested her hand on his arm. “It’s the timed events Bill has a harder time with.”
“But aren’t those events closest to what happens in a cattle operation every day?”
“No, son,” answered Bill. “At least not in the same way. Sure, we rope. But it’s different when you’re tryin’ to do it in a number of seconds.”
“What’s your stand on ranch rodeos?”
“I have to admit I prefer them. What about you, Dottie?”
“The Working Ranch Cowboys Association is goin’ on twenty years in operation. We’ve participated in their Ride for the Brand cattle drive in Colorado Springs for a few years.”
“I think it’s been longer than that, but you’re right. I’m much more ‘keen’ on ranch rodeo events than I am on the Professional Rodeo Cowboy Association’s events, for example.”
Bullet needed to have his head examined. Instead of focusing on the two rodeo circuits he’d need to compete on to achieve his own dreams, he was talking to Bill and Dottie about the ranch rodeos instead.
There was no way he could travel solely to ranch rodeos and compete in other events. He’d need to be in two places at the same time. And he was the stupid one who’d brought it up. Why?
If he didn’t compete in enough PRCA sanctioned events, he’d never qualify for the Super Bowl of rodeo—the National Finals Rodeo held in Las Vegas in December. The same with the Professional Bull Riders, which was the organization Bullet wanted most to ride with. He was initially hoping to ride for the Touring Pro Division, considered the minor league of the PBR. As a Touring Pro rider, Bullet could compete in PBR-sanctioned events and start moving up in earnings to qualify for the bigger events.
But neither the PRCA or PBR had anything whatsoever to do with ranch rodeos.
“You got a problem now, don’t ya, son?” Bill rested his hand on Bullet’s shoulder.
He gave them a fake smile. “Nah. No problems. Only opportunities.”
Bill and Dottie were good to him, and putting his desire to be a professional bull rider in front of what they were doing didn’t sit right with him. At the end of the day, he needed a steady paycheck and a home for Grey. He didn’t need the thrill associated with covering a bull for eight seconds, he just wanted it.
Bill squeezed Bullet’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll work it out. The Flying R partners aren’t gonna be satisfied with ranch rodeos alone.”
Bullet felt sick to his stomach and, more than anything, needed to go for a walk. He felt his dream slipping farther out of his reach, and he didn’t want Bill and Dottie to sense his frustration. He used the excuse that he was going to check on the filly he’d been working with the last time he was in Crested Butte.
“I get the prize for biggest mouth, that’s for damn sure,” Tristan overheard Bullet say to the horse. “Why in hell I
can’t learn to keep it shut, I just don’t know.”
The horse reared, probably because of the tone Bullet was using. The filly could sense Bullet’s anger and frustration just as well as Tristan could.
She’d gone outside to stretch her legs and feel the sun on her face. The back-to-back meetings all day were wearing on her, but the next one was hers, and that made all the difference. In a few minutes, the Lost Cowboy sponsorship meeting would begin. She was equal parts nervous and excited about signing new team members. In years past, they hadn’t signed five competitors. Today they were signing twenty. And Bullet wasn’t one of them.
He hadn’t brought it up last night either. She’d expected him to, particularly after the run-in with Stormy. Instead, he danced with her. Tristan lost count of how many times. After the first two songs, Bullet went to the bar and got them both a drink while Tristan talked to Lyric about today’s meetings. Before she could get too deep into business mode, he whisked her back to the dance floor. Bullet was a good dancer. That hadn’t been a surprise, but his graciousness, and their conversations, had been unexpected.
This morning, Lyric told her about Bullet’s late wife’s struggles with bipolar disorder and how hard Bullet had tried to make their marriage work. Tristan was beginning to think she’d been wrong in her initial assessment of him.
“You talkin’ to yourself or the horse?” she shouted out to him.