Page 19 of Drunk Dialing

“That’s what’s in their fuzzy souls. They roam, like the song says.”

“So philosophical.” He winked, glad that Jake was on a more even keel.

“Shut up.” Jake rolled his eyes. “I know I’m just a dumb roughstock guy, but I know how to do things. You know, I come in contact with lots of folks too.”

Treat liked that a hell of a lot, this newfound confidence that Jake had, where he kind of stood up for himself a little bit. Good for him.

That worked for Treat.

“Nobody ever said you were dumb,” he growled. “So what’re your thoughts? American bison or water buffalo?”

“I can’t see you out there, milking you a buffalo.” Jake was barely keeping the laughter under control.

“No, I wouldn’t even make you do that. That’s what I hire drovers for.” Treat did have to grin about that, though. “I don’t know, I think maybe I’ll talk to my guy, first. I got a foreman at the ranch now. He’s real smart, got a good family. Hell, his kids are in school, even. He seems like he’s going to stick. I think that it’s only fair that I talk to him before I get buffalo—bison—American bison. I don’t want buffalo. Like the water kind with the cheese.”

Lord, he’d lost his damn mind.

“I think that sounds real fair,” Jake said, offering him a nod as they wandered. They were passing the fancy poultry cages, and God help him, those chickens with the feathered feet were just a joke from the good Lord Himself. “I mean, especially if it’s gonna be him and his cowboys that are in danger, because the bison are not something to fuck around with. He takes the risk, he ought to get a say in it.”

Damn, look at his rodeo man being all serious. This felt like a whole new side to Jake—something challenging and smarter than… Not smarter than he knew Jake was, because he always believed that Jake was just kind of playing the happy-go-lucky goofball, but maybe smarter than Jake thought he was. Definitely more intense.

“Yeah, I agree. Sounds like, you know somebody who got hurt.”

Jake glanced at him, then turned his attention to a turkey that was the size of a small moon. “No, sir, I know somebody who died.”

He blinked, less shocked that someone died than how damn mad Jake sounded all of the sudden. “Shit. Who?”

“Cowboy, obviously.” Jake rolled his eyes, then sucked in a deep breath. “Collin was a fair roper, loved the roping pen. Had a horse called Trigger that he won in a poker game, hand to God.” Jake’s smile seemed as if it hurt to make. “Collin’s calling was to be a bulldogger, though. Watching him fly off that horse was a fine thing, and he earned a couple three good purses even. But he was like all of us. His knees hurt, he wanted steady money. He really started to focus more on his ranch work.”

“I understand that, babe. It’s the way it goes.”

“You know it.” Jake shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “He got married, had babies, the whole nine yards, and he decided he was going to get bison. He was out in the pasture trying to load—it’s always trying to load them up. One of the big males just decided he wasn’t going to have it and trampled him into the dirt, stepped on his head and?—”

Oh, sweet Jesus. He felt about as green as Jake looked.

“He was gone before the guys that were helping him could get around. It was just—” Jake stopped, shook his head. “It was bad, man. Closed casket and all bad. His fucking kids were there in the house. That’s some scary shit.”

He wanted to hug Jake, hold him tight. “I hear you. So yeah, I will absolutely talk to Galen. He says no, then we won’t even entertain it.”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s go look at the miniature animals?” Jake’s eyes were shimmering, but not a single tear fell. Cowboys died. That was the way it worked. They died and all their entry fees were paid. It was the way of things. “They’re crazy. The yaks, I swear to God. If I could think of a single reason to have a miniature yak—and I cannot think of a single reason to have a miniature yak—my happy ass would have a miniature yak.”

Miniature yaks. Holy hell. Well, if Jake wanted one, he was going to have one. Treat would look into it.

He grinned. “Miniature. So like dwarfism bred in?”

They headed for the cattle barns, and Treat thought, maybe afterward he’d get his cowboy to eat. Jake would need all his strength to make a good ride tonight.

Chapter Six

Jake shouldn’t have eaten that enchilada. It was sitting in his belly like a huge adobe brick. He hated riding like that. He was going to ride, no question, but it did feel a little bit like he had an enchilada-shaped rock in the pit of his gut.

He’d pulled a seventy-six in saddle bronc, and he’d ridden for a sixty-eight in bareback, so he was looking forward to making a little bit of money on the bulls. He sure as shit wasn’t gonna make it on the horses.

Marcello Alvares came over, the big man’s face all sad and drooping. “I hear you lose your sponsor, amigo. Desculpe. I’m sorry. This is no good. Não é bom.”

Oh, that was sweet and horrifying all at once. “It’s fine. I’m good, but thanks.”

“I pull your rope?” The Brazilian’s English was getting better day by day, and the man? Well, there wasn’t a nicer guy on the circuit. He tried hard, he rode hard, he never had a bad thing to say about anybody, and all of his money went back to Brazil to support his brothers and sisters. Jake respected the fuck out of the guy.

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