Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)(23)

“Oh. Well that’s okay. I’m not a big history buff. I hear the beer stand calling my name.”

“Just give me a second now.”

The next cowboy caught up with the calf, threw the rope, and only caught one leg this time. Apparently that was bad news, since the crowd made a disapproving groan. I thought getting both feet caught up was bad. The calf now had one leg pulled up at an awkward angle and was trying to scurry away on its remaining three limbs.

“On the ranch,” JP was saying. “Cows and calves wander the fields with very little restriction. They have some fences here and there to keep them on the property, but many ranches are so big that the animals don’t see those fences often. When it is time for branding--”

I flinched. What’s worse than being hamstrung by a dude and a horse? Having your flesh burned off by hot iron, that’s what.

“Yeah, branding sucks.” Apparently JP noticed my flinch. “But it isn’t so much worse than a tattoo. And cows have tougher hides than humans...”

“JP, it is beer-thirty, and you’re in my way.”

“Okay, okay. Just listen. When a calf needs medicine or is hurt or something, they need to round it up and get it back to where it can get treatment, right? Well, they aren’t dogs; they don’t come when you call them. So the cowboys gotta go out on the ranch and get ‘em like you see here. They run like hell when you try to catch them, so you gotta rope ‘em, tie ‘em up, and doctor ‘em. It looks worse than it is.”

“It does? Really? When were you running full steam away from someone that caught your feet with a rope and pulled?”

JP gave me a disapproving scowl. “No, it really isn’t as bad as all that.”

I smiled to ease the tension, nodded, and said, “Probably not. But it is just a little much right out of the gate for this non-country girl. My sport is drinking at present, and I would like to get back to that.”

JP sighed and gave the “o-lay” gesture. Get on your way, little doggie.

Handle-Bar was probably relieved.

After I had a brew in hand, I wandered through the livestock area and saw the prize animals. I couldn't focus, though. Discolored hay and poop was all my brain registered.

Poop. Ew.

God boomed from the heavens that Team Roping would begin soon. Oh good, one cowboy on a horse wasn’t enough, the poor calf needed to get double-teamed.

On the way to the Ferris Wheel, I noticed a small crowd forming in the bull area. Hoping some sort of action was afoot, I headed that way. Unfortunately, when I got there, nothing was happening. Just a bunch of guys looking at the monsters.

As I looked around for the second time, I overhead two cowboys talking about one of bulls. The older one was complimenting the younger one on a great draw. Intrigued, which is a nice way of saying confused, I stepped up to the bull in question.

Its large head slowly swayed in my direction. As if in comment to its audience, it gave a loud grunt. It sounded like a dragon! I immediately backed up. It had me locked in a stare off with a slightly lowered head. I did not wish to die today.

“The smaller ones aren’t always easier, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

My insides felt like champagne popping a cork.

It was said right behind me, from someone obviously experienced in ninja warfare, because I’d thought the only people near were the ones I was eavesdropping on!

Jumping with the scare, I must have cleared the ground and convulsed at the same time, but the thing that had people looking my way was my high-pitched scream.

The rest of my beer—that which wasn’t all over my shirt—sloshed over my arm as I whipped around. Ready to do serious damage, I looked up into the clear blue of the Caribbean. They eyes sparkled and ignited, catching my look and sucking me in.

That's about the second I went Gumby. Legs turned to rubber and arms lost feeling. I did a face plant into the hardest, most exquisitely bumpy check I’ve ever felt! I wondered if those pecks would glisten in soft light, and if not, I was more than willing to apply oil to him!

And by him, of course I meant Apollo.

He grabbed my arms with two large hands and practically lifted me back into a standing position. Being that he exerted very little effort, I felt lighter than I did earlier when the other boys practically fell over me instead of standing me up.

After I was steady, he let me go and stepped back. The space let me focus, mentally brushing clouds out of my thoughts. He was every bit as handsome as I remembered. Maybe more so. He was clean shaven today, but he still gave off a manliness to his better than model appearance.

“Sorry if I scared you, ma’am. I always do that it seems.” He fluttered my heart with a gleaming smile.

My under garments got soggy.

“S-sorrn…” I cleared my throat in a nonchalant kind of way and tried again. “Sorry about your shirt.”

He didn’t bother to look down at his wet chest. I wasn’t that disciplined. Then I couldn’t look away. I was right about pecks. His wet shirt accented two famously sculpted masterpieces that deserved tongue play. Half his stomach was flat and ripped, each ab muscle defined. The other half wasn’t wet, and I’d run out of beer. Talk about finishing early!

“It’s all right,” he said in good humor. “No harm, no foul. I saw you checking out the bulls and thought I would come over and say ‘hi’. See if you had any questions?”