Rough Rider (Hot Cowboy Nights, #2)(32)

Tomorrow. Dirk promised himself he’d finally pull his head out of his ass and come to some decisions—about Janice, about rodeo and ranching—about what he was going to do with his life. Tomorrow. Come hell or high water. Dirk rolled over and glanced at the clock, suddenly stuck with a fateful feeling deep in his gut—tomorrow was suddenly today.





Chapter 7


By four a.m., Dirk’s mind was still racing. Giving up on sleep altogether, he rose, dressed, and headed out to the rodeo grounds. With Grady dead to the world, he figured it was his best chance to catch Janice alone. Finding the water troughs already filled and the bulls eating their hay, he figured she’d probably gone back to her trailer for a couple more hours of shut-eye. Not wishing to wake her, he decided to get some breakfast and then come back. Tired of vendor wagon fare, he drove a few miles toward the outskirts of town to a truck stop where he bellied up to the counter.

He ordered black coffee and the three-egg special when two guys entered the diner sporting buzz cuts and Marine Corps khakis. “Mornin’.” Dirk tipped his hat.

The two marines nodded in acknowledgment and then sat a few stools down. After a minute, the taller, leaner one of the two cocked his head at Dirk. “You in Cheyenne for the rodeo?”

“Yeah,” Dirk replied.

“Thought I recognized you.” The bigger guy grinned. “You’re Dirk Knowlton, right?”

“Last I checked,” Dirk replied. “But I’m sorry to say I can’t place you.”

“Reid. Reid Everett.” The marine extended his hand. “It’s been a few years, but I rode saddle broncs against you back in high school. You beat me out in the finals.”

“Shit yeah! I remember you now. You’re from Dubois, right? As I recall, your whole team left spur tracks in your cantles.”

Reid shook his head with a laugh. “The victor always thinks he can rewrite the battle any way he likes.”

“Damn straight.” Dirk returned a shameless grin. “So you’re in the marines now?”

“Yup.” Reid nodded. “Home on leave. Garcia and me just finished boot camp.”

“Semper fi, man,” Garcia added with a toothy grin.

“We got ten days liberty,” Reid said, “so me and my buddy decided to take a road trip.”

“Did you just get into Cheyenne?”

“Yeah, but we’ve been travelin’ a while. We stopped in Vegas, visited my family in Dubois and then my girl over in Riverton. We’ll probably be hitting the road day after tomorrow. Gotta return to San Diego for infantry training, but I promised Rafael here some live rodeo action before we leave. He’s from LA and probably doesn’t know the front end of a bull from the back.”

“Hey, give me some credit, ése,” Garcia protested. “I can tell horns from cojones.”

“If you want to see bulls, you’re in for a treat,” Dirk said. “Just a few miles up the road there’s at least fifty of the rankest bovines you ever seen, just waiting for the chance to toss some dumb-ass cowboy like me fork end up.”

“Oh yeah?” Garcia grinned. “This I gotta see.”

“So you’re ridin’ bulls now?” Reid asked.

“Yeah. I started just to win the All-Around, but now I’m helping out a friend who’s a bucking bull contractor. Since I’m here with the bulls anyway, I might as well ride, right?”

“Makes sense…if you can keep from getting freight-trained by those big snot-slobbering bastards.”

“Getting freight-trained is a given if you do it long enough.” Dirk shrugged. “But I’m in the money more often than not…least I was until the past few weeks.”

“You ever ride a bull, ése?” Garcia asked Reid.

“Hell no.” Reid laughed. “It’s bad enough to hang a pedal on a bronc. I can’t say I’ve ever had a hankering to take a horn in the ass from a near ton of pissed-off bull.”

“Still backing any broncs?” Dirk asked him.

“Negative. Not for a few years. I traded my spurs for an M-16.”

“Know where you’ll be deployed yet?” Dirk asked.

“Not yet, but with all the saber rattling in the Middle East, you can bet the ranch it’ll be Iraq or Afghanistan.” The marines ordered their breakfast and the three men continued their small talk.

“You staying in Cheyenne tonight?” Dirk asked.

“Nah. I figured we’d drive to Laramie. I’ve got some family there too.”

“If you change your mind or have too many drinks and need a place to crash, me and my buddy are at the Motel Six. Here’s my cell.” Dirk borrowed a pen from the waitress and scrawled his number on a napkin. “Do you remember Grady Garrison?”

“Hell yeah. That crazy bastard hasn’t got himself killed yet?”

Dirk laughed. “He was alive and breathin’ as of last night, but today’s a whole new day.”

Reid laughed. “If a bull don’t get him first, my money says some jealous cowboy eventually will.”

Dirk was finished eating by the time the waitress brought Reid’s and Garcia’s food. He picked up their check as well as his own. When Reid made to protest, Dirk laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please. I got it. I want you to know I appreciate what you’re doin’.”