Page 44 of Fool for You
Every Hartwell had their thing with the sport. Rhett was tie down, Lachlan was bareback, Abi would barrel race for her own enjoyment—but when the opportunity was given to me to pick my event, nothing caught my eye. I hated riding sheep. What made my family think I’d want to ride a bucking horse? Rhett tried to get me to do team roping with him one year, but I held the rope like it was a foreign object. Nothing fit me—until I was behind that microphone.
The box with Uncle Levi was my place. At ten years old, I knew that was where I was supposed to be. And I was good at it. We worked together for years, learning each other’s quips and how to taunt the clown. He always said I was a natural. When Uncle Levi retired when I was twenty, he handed me the mic; that box became mine.
Now, twenty years after that first time with Uncle Levi, I couldn’t do what I loved to do—even when it was in my reach. The microphones were right there on the tables. The screens were showing us every angle, and the clown was throwing all the jokes tonight. And all I could do was sit…and listen…and pretend to be okay with it.
While Hector and Jeff were bantering back and forth, I dug through my pocket, pulling out my phone and hitting Hawkins’s name.
Me
Any word on Reno?
Those damn dots took way too long to dance.
Hawkins
Not yet, don’t worry, man, I’ll keep you updated. When I know something, you’ll know something.
“And tonight we have eight fine ladies to show those barrels whose boss—” Sam began his voice echoing through the speakers.
I perked up, not wanting to miss Quinn. I stood, leaning my palms on the table, watching the first racer round the barrels, knocking over the second barrel. I clenched my fist in victory, and the grunt of ‘yes’ came out of my lips before I could stop it. Not me wanting the other racers to fail. Loosening my hand, I shoved it in my pocket, clearing my throat before pushing myself off the table.
My gaze caught Sam’s, and his eyebrow rose higher as he followed me.
“I saw that,” he whispered, covering the mic with his hand.
I just shrugged my shoulder and turned my attention back to the arena.
“And Quinn Compton,” Jeff began, “on her second year, one of the youngest barrel racers this season, on a winning streak right now, and tonight should be no different. And there she is out of the gate riding her gelding, Hook—”
If he thought he was hyping Quinn, he could use a little more guidance. I blocked him out and focused on Quinn. Sam hit my arm with the back of his hand, trying to get my attention as I followed her every move. Barrel one, barrel two, barrel three—and Hook shot out towards the gate. Quinn’s smile was brighter than the diamonds on Hook’s breast collar.
She was…quite the show.
“A fifteen point six for Compton tonight, keeping on with her streak and—”
“Tell me you like the girl, without telling me you like the girl.” Sam chuckled, pulling on my belt loop, forcing me back in my seat. “I caught on at The Steel, but you, sir, are long gone.”
I inhaled, not even bothering to answer him. I was long gone.
After the barrel racers, I left the box, wanting my victory hug from Quinn more than I wanted to stay and see the bull riders. I jogged down the metal stairs, jumping off the last three, my boots hitting with a thud, and I took off, knowing exactly where she would go. Hoping she would want to see me as much as I wanted to see her, I felt my feet fly on the ground, weaving in and out of the people who had to get their last cup of beer before the bulls took center stage.
I rounded the corner, the smile bursting from me as I saw her come into view.
The only thing that stopped me was the woman she was talking to, and the fact that the smile that I’d seen on the last few rides wasn’t there as the woman talked. I slowed and approached Quinn, completely out of breath.
“Quinn,” I said, my voice ragged. “Quinn!”
She turned, a slight smile forming once her eyes caught mine, but she stilled. I stopped next to her, forcing my arms to stay at my sides. I could see the stress that lined her eyes, her knuckles white as she gripped onto Hook’s reins. The heavy breath she let out shook my entire core. She should be celebrating another win, but she was…heavy.
“Wyatt, this is my mom, Helen Compton. Mom—Wyatt Hartwell.”
The woman, Quinn’s mother—whose phone calls I couldn’t help but notice when they had been ignored this entire weekend—gave me the fakest smile I had ever seen. She held out her hand and said in an exaggerated, joyous tone, “Oh, a Hartwell. Wonderful to meet you!”
Fifteen
Quinn
WhenIracedoffthe dirt, Hook shaking with the thrill of the ride, the last person I expected to see was my mother. I was hoping for Wyatt, even though I knew he was in the box, I had a feeling he would rush to find me—it had become our thing after all—but my mother derailed that the second she came into my view.
