Page 4 of Dirty Cowboys
My eyes burn after scrolling sales listings for old trucks. I need something reliable, but that will also help me fit in around here. I give up when I see it’s almost time to leave.
The drive into town is interesting, as my GPS has no idea where we are going, but after three wrong turns, I find the main street. Wyatt didn’t mention where the rodeo is being held, so I planned to ask at the gas station, but as luck would have it, everyone in town must heading there at the same time. I follow the line of trucks until they all pull into a makeshift parking lot. My poor rental car will be covered in dirt by the time I have to take it back.
The atmosphere immediately hits me. The smell is a little overwhelming, country music blasts from the speakers, and people excitedly cheer from the stands. I raise my phone and start taking pictures I know myfollowers will eat up. I snap a wide shot of the arena and post it.
My first rodeo!
This is what Saturdays look like in small towns.
#RodeoNights #CountryLife #BullRiders
“You made it!”
I turn to see Wyatt jogging toward me. He is dressed in chaps, a protective vest, and a cowboy hat that’s seen better days.
“I didn’t want to miss your first bull ride,” I say, snapping a photo of him. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I might throw up,” he admits with a grin. “But also like I was born for this, you know?”
I don’t, but I nod anyway. “Can I film some behind-the-scenes content?”
“Sure, just don’t get any of me when I land on my ass. And tag me at Wyatt Morrison.”
As Wyatt heads off to prepare, I wander through the crowd with my phone, documenting everything. I snap a shot of the massive bulls in their holding pens.
These beasts are no joke. Mad respect to anyone brave enough to ride them.
#BullRiding #Respect #PowerfulAnimals
“Nice boots.”
I turn to find a woman about my age with sun-streaked blonde hair and big blue eyes. She’s wearing jeans that have faded from the sun and boots that have clearly seen years of work.
“Thank you,” I say, then notice her slight smirk. “What?”
“Nothing, just that your boots are really pretty.”
Heat creeps up my neck. How am I supposed to wear them in if I don’t wear them? “I just moved here.”
“I can tell.” Her expression softens. “I’m Sarah Beth. Don’t mind me—we all had new boots once. It just takes some hard work to break them in properly.”
“Indie,” I introduce myself. “Any tips for not looking like such a city girl?”
“Time,” she says simply, “and maybe stepping in some horse shit. Those boots are meant to get dirty.”
Before I can respond, a voice comes over the loudspeaker announcing the start of the bull riding competition. Sarah Beth points toward the arena. “That’s where you’ll want to be to get the best view for your photos.”
I make my way to the fence surrounding the arena, positioning myself to get good shots of the action. The rider gets ready, and I quickly snap and post the photo.
Sh!t is about to get real.
#BullRiding #Respect #PowerfulAnimals
Then I spot them. Duke, Nash, and Walker are leaning against the fence about twenty feet to my right, and my breath catches. In daylight, they’re even more ruggedly handsome than they were in the dim bar last night.
I raise my phone and pretend to photograph the arena while sneaking some pictures of them. I manage the perfect shot, all three of them in profile, completely unaware of the camera. For a moment, I consider posting it, but something holds me back. Instead, I save it to my private folder.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our next rider is making his debut today. Wyatt Morrison on Thunder Strike.”
