Just Kidding (SWAT Generation 2.0 #1)(70)

At three years of age, Shaggy was the reigning champion, never been ridden for a full eight seconds, prize winner who was babied by my grandfather, and likely the cause of his heart attack.

Granddad tried to go to every event that Shaggy went to, and I loathed to admit it, but Granddad was no longer a spring chicken.

Something he’d had proven to him four weeks ago when he’d suffered a heart attack and been informed that he needed to take it easy.

That’d been my cue to come home, and I’d been with him ever since.

Four weeks of listening to my grandfather whine about not being able to make any of Shaggy’s games… or bouts…or whatever the hell they were called.

Then him saying he needed to get some work done, and sell some cows this morning, had come out of the blue.

He’d been so distraught about ‘bleeding money’ that I’d stupidly volunteered to help him any way I could. Which brought me to now, driving a trailer full of freakin’ cows, in a fucking thunderstorm.

Once I was fully in a stopped position, I put it into park and reached for my phone, typing out a text.

Codie (11:11 AM): I’m here.

Codie (11:14 AM): Where do you want me to go?

Codie (11:16 AM): Hello?

Growling in frustration, I snatched up my purse and hopped out of the truck, my new, pretty boots sinking about an inch and a half into a puddle of muddy water.

At least I hoped it was muddy water.

Placing the keys into my back pocket, I tucked the phone into my purse and started toward the big white building.

I smiled at a man who waved at me, his eyes taking in my attire, making me blush.

I was a city girl at heart.

I loved Kilgore, I’d grown up in the small town, but I wasn’t a rancher like my family had been before me.

I was a city girl who loved to wear flip-flops and high heels. I liked to wear dresses more than I liked to wear jeans, and I most certainly didn’t shovel manure unless I absolutely had to—i.e., never.

And for the last four weeks, I absolutely had to.

I loved horses. Had adored them since I got my first one at the age of three, but I didn’t like cleaning up after them.

I liked riding them and feeding them treats.

Poop wasn’t really my thing.

Growling under my breath, I picked up my pace, trying my best to ignore the water that was saturating my chambray shirt that had the cutest little rhinestones as buttons.

By the time I made it to the front door, though, I was soaked to the bone.

It didn’t help matters that the weather was exceptionally cold, either.

“Can I help you?” I heard asked the moment my feet stepped inside the door.

I looked up to find a man wearing a cowboy hat standing in front of me.

Not that that made him very special.

Every man in the joint had on a cowboy hat.

“Hi,” I chirped. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Who might that be?” the older cowboy asked, bringing his spit cup to his lips and letting loose right there in front of me.

I tried not to grimace at the disgusting use of the nasty product and instead focused on the area around me.

The building looked old.

Really old.

The paneling on the walls was faux wood and had worn down with time.

The floors were an off-white linoleum that looked like it’d seen way better days.

It was almost as if the entire place was stuck back in the seventies.

“Mr. Valentine,” I replied, finally turning back to the man, grateful to see that he’d dropped his dip cup to his leg.

I kept my eyes firmly above his waist as I waited for him to reply.

“What you want with him?” the man asked.

“He’s supposed to be helping me get some cows unloaded for my granddad,” I explained patiently.

The man smiled. “He’s at the last shoot looking at the newest bull for sale.”

He pointed toward a rickety brown door, and I smiled gratefully at him.

“Thank you,” I acknowledged appreciatively to him as I walked toward the door.

“Watch your step,” he called from behind me.

I waved my hand at him and opened the door, stopping when I realized that there were stairs on the other side of the door, with absolutely zero landing for you to walk out on to introduce you to the stairs.

Steep ones that looked to be about three times the size of a normal stair.

I looked down at my boots—ones that were brand new and had absolutely no traction to them like tennis shoes—and growled in frustration.

Taking one last glance back and not finding the cowboy in sight, I climbed up the first step and closed the door behind me.

The first four steps were the worst, and they evened up the closer to the top I got. It was worse and better, of course. Better because the smaller steps meant I didn’t have to worry about my shoes losing traction. Worse because now that I was so high up in the air, I could see the entire sale barn.

It was about a football field in length, and about a football field wide.

There were pens on either side of the walkway that was suspended high above the area down below it, giving each and every person there a perfect view of the entire shebang.

“’Scuse me,” I muttered to an older gentleman that could rival my grandpa in age.

He looked fit, though, compared to Granddad. Granddad, although in good shape body-wise, looked just worn out.