Page 43 of Rough Stock

‘Oi!’ Craig whistled so loudly it bounced off the kitchen walls.

‘What was that for?’ She scowled at Craig standing on the other side of the kitchen counter.

‘You were too busy ignoring me with your inner head chatter.’

‘Why aren’t you resting? Or rope making?’

‘The rope lengths need to soak for a bit before I start weaving.’

She arched an eyebrow at the cowboy, he didn’t look like a weaver of sorts.Not just his boots—his jeans were filled out by a set of very muscular legs. Not to mention the broad chest beneath a worn shirt, washed so many times it was soft to the touch, topped off with a white stockman’s hat shading his blue eyes and deep, rich golden tan. Stunningly handsome didn’t seem quite a strong enough term for this mouth-watering male. Who she dared not touch.

She blinked, successfully pulling her thoughts back into their conversation.

‘Exactly what are these ropes?’ She turned away to point at the coil of rope hanging over the dining room chair, beside his leather rodeo vest. It was Izzy who’d carried them inside, not Craig, who didn’t want to touch them. ‘What makes those bull ropes so special?’

‘A bull rope is what a rodeo rider holds onto during their ride. We have no saddle, just that rope for control.’

‘And…’

‘They’re made from tough braided materials that I customise, using as much organic fabric as I can, which is better for the bulls. You see, the rope wraps around the bull’s chest, just behind its front legs. Then the bull rider grips the special handle that I weave into the rope itself. That’s the bit that gets covered in rosin for that extra stick.’

‘Is that the sticky stuff you make in that pot on your barbecue?’

‘Yep.’ Finally, he dragged over the rope Brodie had given him earlier. ‘See?’

‘I do.’ It was oddly soft, yet coarse for a rope, but it was thick, too.

‘The tail end of the rope gets pulled tight and tucked under or around the rider’s hand, giving them a better grip while the bull’s bucking like mad. The trick is making the rope tough enough to last ride after ride. But it also needs to be flexible enough for the rider to find their perfect grip when it matters most, as well as not harm the beast. I’ve seen some animals suffer from rope burns, which is wrong. These days, organisers and bull owners are particular about what riders use.’

‘Which is why Ginny wants more for her sons. Which is great advertising, having a rodeo bull owner trust your ropes.’

Craig dropped his head as if being humble. ‘I might ride the animals, but I never want to harm them. None of the rodeo riders do. It’s just a sport.’

‘That almost got you killed.’

‘That’s the game, sweetheart.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. It was a sore point with Craig that the stubborn fool couldn’t see past.

‘I heard you call it Russian roulette with the reaper once.’

His jaw clamped shut, the muscles shifting as he ground his teeth, rolling up the rope in his hand, then tossing it onto the couch. She was pretty sure, if his ribs weren’t so much of a bother, he would’ve tossed it out the door.

‘What were you asking me about? Before your whistled at me like a dog. Which—by the way—is not nice.’

‘Ignoring me isn’t nice, either. What were you obsessing over?’

‘Dinner.’Liar.‘I made salads, and I marinated some steaks. Think you can cook on the barbecue tonight?’ He needed to do something. The lack of work to occupy him was annoying for someone like Craig, especially after today. Craig was a hands-on guy, a stockman who was used to working in all kinds of weather. It was surprising that he’d lasted this long indoors, but after today, he’d be pushing to get back out there.

‘Then we’ll celebrate. But before you say anything, I’m not on anything that messes with alcohol, so don’t start. What about you?’

It was her turn to scowl at him.

‘Izzy, I’m not the enemy. I’ve never been the enemy.’

‘Why are you asking about my meds, when I haven’t used them in years?’

‘Because something is stressing you out. I can see it. I saw you go pale in Finn’s office.’

‘Your new work office, you mean?’

---