Page 23 of Ride the Sky

Go get Fallon. Bring her home.

And then…

Tell her everything I’ve been wanting to say for the last four years.

“Would it kill you to smile, Fallon?”

I shoot the photographer a glare. “I’m not good at this shit.”

Pappy waves a hand. “Hitch the dress higher. Show a little leg.”

Dolled up, standing in the silver water trough, wearing a black lace dress that could pass as lingerie, I grumble but gather the silky material higher on my thigh.

I look down at the silver and turquoise ring on my index finger. “Isn’t this an ad for jewelry?”

The photographer lowers the camera. “It adds to the mystery.”

Pappy smacks his palm to his forehead. “For Christ’s sake, stop arguing.”

“For you, anything.” I fake a smile then flip him the bird.

“Here. For your lipstick.” Tripp Hendrix, a tall, lanky cowboy, with a coif of impressive wheat-colored hair, hovers over me. I should hate another man in my life, but Tripp’s a childhood friend from Resurrection. Neighbors, we often walked each other home from school.

When I was twelve, I caught him getting the shit kicked out of him by a couple of classmates. I pulled a fist like my father had shown me and swung. The group scattered. My fist throbbed, but I’d never admit it.

“Holy shit,” Tripp gasped, rubbing at his black eye. “You did that.”

I sort of laughed at him. “Nothing to it. Got your back.”

I meant it. In Resurrection, we stick up for people.

Now, employed by Pappy as a member of our team, Tripp’s our water boy. Gear carrier.

He’s all the things, including a pain in my ass. No matter how mean I am to him, he sticks around.

I squirm as he offers me a water bottle and a straw. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He grins as I take a sip. “Are you going insane yet?”

“Only slightly,” I answer ruefully.

Tripp steps back.

I lift an eyebrow at Pappy. “All I want to do is ride, Pappy. Not play dress up.”

“And ride you will. Tomorrow, the show goes on.” Pappy swaggers his way in the dust, ashes his cigar. “In the meantime, we make money.”

I scowl and snap open my mouth. Next to me, an assistant says, “Smile,” and swipes Vaseline on my teeth, effectively cutting short any more arguments.

My agent for the last two years, Pappy’s mission in life is to make me the face of female bull riding in America. He’s greedy and ruthless, and I hate him. Dakota says Pappy is using me, and he is, but I’m using him, too.

All the big rides are coming up in the fall. The PRCA, the PBR, the NFR. I’m so close. Maggie Parker, Polly Reich status. I ride better than a man. I’m not arrogant. I know what I have. What I want.

And god, I fucking want this.

It would be the validation I’ve been chasing. That running worked. That leaving Dakota was worth it. That I’ve made my father proud. That Aiden didn’t take everything from me.

That I am still fucking here. Still me.

---