Slow Hand (Hot Cowboy Nights, #1)(83)

“Oh yeah?” Janice couldn’t stifle her grin. “Why’s that, Grady?”

Grady smirked. “Because team ropin’s a lot like jacking off, sweet cheeks—kinda fun to do, but no one wants to watch it.”

Dirk rolled his eyes and Janice shook her head with a derisive snort.

Grabbing her flank ropes and hook, she methodically moved down the row of massively muscled, shifting, snorting bovines. Janice spoke in low, calm tones as she handled each animal. She knew every bull in the circuit by name, and endeavored to handle each one with the care and respect they deserved. To her annoyance, Grady followed her, jabbering on about nothing, while she flanked her bulls. It was damned irritating how the cocky SOB refused to be ignored.

After finishing with Sudden Impact, Janice double-checked the bulls in the pens. When she returned, Dirk was armored with his Kevlar vest and standing on the platform above Magnum Force. “You the gunner?” she asked.

“Yup.” Dirk nodded. “Drew this big bastard. New one isn’t he?” He jerked his head toward the massive Brahma shifting restlessly in his pen.

“Yeah. He’s new all right.”

“What happened to that ol’ sonofabitch, The Enforcer? Did you retire him?”

“Hell no. Daddy sold him. Pocketed a big chunk of change and still had enough left to buy two replacements that he found down at this shithole farm in Arkansas. Mag here is one of ’em.” She nodded to the bull.

While her father had made a respectable name in stock contracting, she’d always felt his methods were a bit hit or miss. He’d struck it lucky enough times to stay in the business, but would never make it to the top because he was too quick to sell his best bulls for cash in hand. To Janice’s frustration, he’d never focused on the business of breeding his own stock. They had the land and the know-how, so it seemed a wasted opportunity.

Janice, on the other hand, saw a future in bucking bulls. While traditional rodeo was dying out and struggling just to break even, the new bull-riding associations were packing ’em in, even in the big cities. It was the new “extreme” sport. Breeding the rankest bulls for the toughest cowboys was her dream—what she was secretly working toward. She just needed the right foundation bull. She’d already wondered if Mag might be the one. If he made it big on this circuit, she was determined to buy him out for breeding—no matter the cost.

“I detect a pattern here. Outlaw Josie Wales? Magnum Force?” Dirk chuckled. “Your ol’ man’s a real Clint Eastwood fan, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. He’s always named his rough stock after favorite movies but the primest of the lot are called after Clint Eastwood flicks. Be careful with this one, Dirk. I think Mag just might be the rankest bull we’ve ever had. He’s no chute fighter, but once that gate flies open, he’s unpredictable as hell.”

“Oh yeah? If you’ve got any other secrets to share, I’m all ears.”

Grady snorted and spat another black wad of dip. “You so scared of eatin’ dirt that you’re asking the stock hands for lessons?”

“Damned straight, Grady. Her father owns the bull and I’m one ride away from winning the overall.”

“Shit. If you’re so hard up for teachin’, you shoulda just watched me ride that badass.” He jerked his head at Texas Tornado, the notorious bull he’d ridden for a high score of eighty-six points.

“Your style wouldn’t cut it with Mag, Grady,” Janice interjected.

“Oh yeah?” Grady pulled out another chuck of wintergreen Skoal and stuffed it under his lower lip. “There ain’t a bull in the world that can’t be rode, sweetheart—”

“Or a cowboy that can’t be throwed,” Janice finished with a smirk of her own. Although one of the top contenders, Grady needed to be taken down a peg or two and Janice hoped Dirk would be the one to do it.

“And just how many bulls have you rode now, sweet pants?”

“None,” she shot back. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ignorant. Maybe you forget I grew up with these animals. I know when I load ’em what kinda mood they’re in and most times how they’re gonna act.”

“That may be, but all bets are off once you’re actually forking the SOB with the flank rope on.”

Janice shrugged. “I’m just sayin’ look out if you ever draw this one, Grady. Usually the bulls clue you in on what they’re thinking, but not this one. When you assume he’s gonna spin into your hand, he blows, or he looks like he’s fading right and then ducks off left, or maybe takes a sudden nose dive and snaps his head like ol’ Bodacious did. He’s smart as hell and he’ll set you up for a big hurt in a heartbeat. This bull’s gonna rearrange a lot of cowboy faces in his new career.”

“Then it’s too bad Grady didn’t draw him this go round,” Dirk taunted his buddy. “Rearranging his ugly mug could only be an improvement.”

Grady grabbed his crotch. “It ain’t my face the buckle bunnies are after, pretty boy.”

Janice ignored the vulgar exchange. “Mag’s an ornery bastard if you yank a foot on him. Ride him too aggressive and I promise he’ll eat you up. If you don’t want to be the first one to kiss that bull, Dirk, you’d do well to spare the spurs.”