Thrown: Studs in Spurs, Book 6 (2 page)

Cooper nodded again, but by then Skeeter’s mother was close enough he could tell her about his ride. “Mom! Cooper said I did great and I can ride again tomorrow.”

She raised one brow. “Is that so? And it’s proper to call him Mr. Holbrook.”

Cooper grinned. “That’s fine, ma’am. Cooper works for me.”

“As long as it’s all right with you.” His mother didn’t smile even though Cooper was smiling at her. In fact, she looked a little sad as she looked at Skeeter. “But I’m not sure about another lesson so soon.”

No!
She couldn’t say that.

“I need to keep practicing if I’m gonna get good.” When she pressed her lips together in a move Skeeter had seen many times, his heart sank. She was going to say no. It was no use, but he had to try anyway. “Please.”

She drew in a slow breath.

“Ma’am. If I might step in here for a second?”

Finally letting out that big breath, she glanced at Cooper. “Sure.”

“I could use someone to help me out here. If you dropped him off for a few hours a couple of days a week, he could do a little work around the place and then I could get him on a few bulls. It would only be when I’m around, of course. I do a lot of traveling, but if I’m here, he’s welcome.”

She bit her lower lip before she nodded. “That would be real nice of you, Mr. Holbrook.”

“Nah, he’d be doing me the favor helping out. And it’s Cooper, remember?”

“All right. Thank you.” A small smile tipped up her lips and Skeeter’s heart began to pound. He was going to get to work and ride with Cooper, almost like they were partners. That was even better than just taking lessons.

“It’s my pleasure, ma’am.”

She swiped one hand across her eyes and then turned to Skeeter. “Come on. We’ve got to go. I need to get a load of laundry in so my uniform’s clean for work. You need to thank Mr. Hol—Cooper.”

“Thank you, Cooper.” Skeeter was so excited it was hard to breathe but he managed to get the words out.

“You’re very welcome.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Right? I can come tomorrow, Mom?”

“If he says it’s okay.”

Cooper laughed. “It’s okay. I’ll be here.”

As he followed his mother toward the car, Skeeter called back to Cooper. “And I’ll start saving for a helmet.”

“Don’t worry about it. You can use this one whenever you need.”

“Okay. Thanks!” He nearly sprinted the rest of the way to the car.

Working with Cooper was going to be the most awesome thing Skeeter ever did in his life.

Chapter One

Present day

“And Skeeter Anderson hits the ground with the clock stopped at six-point-nine seconds.”

“Well, JW, I have to think that with the number of times this kid’s gotten bucked off, nine out of his last nine outs, odds are he’s used to the taste of arena dirt by now.”

“Used to it or not, this one’s gonna cost him, Jim. Without a qualified ride in this event, his ranking doesn’t make the cut. Skeeter’s officially off the tour for this series.”

“You’re right there, JW. Skeeter will be headed down to the touring pro division until he can get his points up to rank good enough to qualify for the series again. Let’s hope he works out the kinks in his riding and makes it to the finals in Vegas this year.”

Skeeter squinted through the bars on the faceguard of his helmet to see the clock. Seeing his time didn’t change anything. All the digital red glow of the numbers did was confirm what the announcers had said. The clock had stopped at six-point-nine seconds. Close but not close enough when he needed eight seconds to get a score.

Without a qualified ride during his last nine outs, for the first time in years he didn’t rank in the top forty. Only the best riders got to tour with this particular series. Skeeter was no longer one of them. That truth had echoed off the arena walls for thousands of bull riding fans to hear, thanks to the two announcers and their sound system. He pulled out his mouthguard and resisted the urge to throw it.

Sure, he could still ride for this association, but it would be in another division. In this sport, it was the equivalent of a baseball player who’d played in the majors—hell, in the World Series—being sent back to the minor leagues because he wasn’t good enough to cut it in the major leagues anymore. It sucked.

“Tough break, Skeets.” One of the bullfighters slapped Skeeter on the back while handing him his bull rope.

“Yup.” Skeeter grabbed his dusty rope. “Thanks.”

Behind the chutes, Aaron Jordan was there to meet him the moment he walked through the gate. “Don’t let being sent down to the touring pros get to you. You’ll be back here in a week. Two max.”

Aaron’s words had been encouraging on the surface, but all Skeeter could hear was pity behind them. Besides, it would take longer than a week or two to work his way back to where he’d been. But he didn’t bother arguing. What was the point?

“Yeah.” As Skeeter pulled his helmet off, he didn’t have anything more than that to say. He walked away from his friend and traveling partner, heading for where he’d left his hat before the ride.

A nine buck-off streak was too much for Skeeter to wrap his head around after having ranked among the top riders in the country—heck, in the world. They’d called him a prodigy. Joked he’d be the world champion before he was legal to drink.

They’d all been wrong.

Skeeter never ever thought he’d be in this situation, yet here he was. He needed a few seconds alone, but that wasn’t going to happen here and now while he was surrounded by people and cameras.

“What’s going on, kid?”

He turned toward Mustang Jackson, the rider he looked up to with as much respect as he had for the man who’d trained him all those years ago. Unlike Cooper, Mustang had never won the world championship, but he’d placed in the top ten riders consistently, year after year, and he’d been around for a long time.

“I suck, that’s what’s going on.”

Mustang chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. “After watching how you’re riding lately, yeah, I gotta agree with you on that.”

That was not what he’d expected Mustang, the tour cheerleader on most days, to say. A frown settled on Skeeter’s brow.

The older man laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. You know as well as I do, if you can hang on for six-point-nine seconds—”

“I should be able to hang on for eight.” Skeeter finished the sentiment he knew well. He’d heard other riders say it often enough.

“Yup. So, I’ll ask you again, what’s going on with you?”

He blew out a breath. “I don’t know.”

Mustang tipped his head to one side. “I suggest you take some time and figure it out.”

Not real helpful advice, in Skeeter’s opinion. If even Mustang couldn’t figure out what was wrong, after giving all of them good riding advice for years, then there was no hope for Skeeter’s future in this sport. That truth sat in Skeeter’s chest like a lead weight, making it hard to breathe.

He raised his gaze to meet Mustang’s. “I’ll try.”

“You do that, and in the meantime get back to your basics. Hop on some practice bulls. Hell, get back on a damn bucking barrel.”

“The barrel? You serious?” Skeeter’s eyes popped wide. He hadn’t been on a barrel in years. Not since his lessons with Cooper back in Arkansas.

“I never joke about bull riding.” Mustang’s brows rose high. “Just do it, kid. Trust me.” He knocked back the brim of his cowboy hat and was gone.

Ride a practice barrel like the little kids who weren’t old enough to ride bulls? Skeeter had ridden to a sold-out arena in Las Vegas. He’d competed in front of stands packed with thousands of fans. And now, he’d be reduced to riding a barrel in the backyard.

“You okay?” Aaron’s voice brought Skeeter back from where he’d been wallowing in his misery.

“Nope.” If Skeeter could stand to admit to himself his career could very well be over, at least at this level of competition, he might as well admit how miserable he felt about it to his best friend.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” His traveling partner let out a breath.

Make that
former
traveling partner. Aaron would still be following this tour circuit, while Skeeter was going back in the touring pros.

“I’m gonna go get out of this stuff.” Helmet in his hand, Skeeter turned and headed for the back. He could pack away his chaps and his vest in his gear bag. There’d be no championship round for him today.

His path to the riders’ dressing room took him down a hallway lined with life-sized posters of past world champions. Some of these men had long since retired from the sport. These were the men Skeeter had grown up idolizing back when he only dreamed of competing pro. Back when his mom had taken on extra shifts to pay for his equipment and later, when he started to compete, for his entry fees. All while he’d mowed every lawn he could find in walking distance to earn money to help.

Some of the champions pictured were still competing. Skeeter had traveled, joked, eaten and prayed with them for the years he’d been with this tour. He’d ridden alongside champions, competing at their level—until now.

Now, it could all be over. His mom’s money and hard work gone to waste. All of Cooper’s countless hours of coaching—all for nothing.

Hoping none of the guys would be in the dressing room, Skeeter bit his lip and fought against the hot sting of tears, not brought on by sadness but anger. Anger at himself. Who else did he have to blame? He’d somehow let this happen, though he had no idea how. Just like he had no idea how he was going to fix it.

Riley Davis fingered the braid hanging over her right shoulder and watched Skeeter’s shoulders slump as he made his way to the back. The sound of the cowbell bouncing across the floor as he dragged his bull rope behind him echoed off the walls of the hallway. There was nothing sadder than watching a rider walk down that long hall after a buck off.

Poor guy. Usually, he always had a smile and a
howdy
for everyone. Skeeter was the sweetest, most outgoing and friendly guy Riley had ever met. Not today. Not after having been kicked off the tour.

She wasn’t too happy about that herself. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit she’d found herself looking for him during events. A few times, he’d glanced her way and those big blue eyes of his had met her gaze. Then she’d had to pretend it was an accident. That she hadn’t just been caught staring, even though she had been.

Truth be told, once or twice she’d let herself think what it would feel like to run her hands through those sandy curls of his. His tousled hair made him look even younger than his twenty years. Or maybe he was twenty-one by now. Either way, at nineteen, she was younger than him. He’d never look twice at her. Not with all these other girls hanging around trying to get the riders’ attention at every single event. There were always a good amount of female fans who came to watch the cowboys behind the chutes, not the rides in the arena.

“Steer clear, baby girl.” Her father’s voice broke into her thoughts.

All of her ponderings about Skeeter and the sadness so evident in every dragged-out step he took toward the riders’ dressing room must have shown on her face, and her father had noticed. It still didn’t hurt to play dumb.

Innocent expression firmly in place, Riley raised her gaze to her father’s. “What do you mean?”

“That one’s not for you.” He thrust his chin in the direction she’d been watching. “No bull riders for my baby.”

His baby
.

Riley drew her brows down low at that comment. She was far from a baby, given she was her father’s partner in the business that provided champion stock for the best bull-riding series in the whole dang country. Stock contractor of the year for three years running, Butch Davis was an imposing man, well respected by everyone in this business, but he would always have a soft spot for her. She knew that. Since her mother had died years ago she was all her father had, but still, she was no baby.

“I feel bad for him getting kicked off the tour, is all. It’s not like I want to marry him or anything.” At least not right now…

“Good. Keep it that way.”

It wasn’t Skeeter specifically her father objected to. It was bull riders in general. Riley didn’t know what he was worried about. No rider would even think of asking her out on a date. Hell, they barely talked to her. They were all too afraid of her father. She saw it in their expressions whenever he glared in the direction of any guy who dared look her way.

She, however, was not afraid of her father. His declaration made her want to go out and do the opposite of what he said. It would serve him right if she did end up married to a bull rider.

“Renegade looked good out there.” She changed the subject before she said something that would make the long ride home unbearable. There were close confines in the cab of that stock trailer and Mississippi was a long way away.

“Yup. Not that it would have taken much to buck that kid off.”

She frowned. “Skeeter is a good, consistent rider—”

“He sure is. He’s gotten consistently bucked off for nine straight now.” He grinned at his own little joke.