Rodeo Summer: A Camden Ranch Novel Read online

  Rodeo Summer

  By Jillian Neal

  Title

  Written by Jillian Neal

  Cover Design by The Killion Group, Inc.

  Edited by Chasity Jenkins-Patrick

  Copyright © 2016 Jillian Neal

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincident

  Published by Realm Press

  36 South Court Square

  Suite 300

  Newnan GA 30263

  http://realmpress.net/

  ISBN 978-1-940174-33-4

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016934069

  First Edition

  First Printing – April 2016

  To my Granddaddy Reese,

  Thanks for all the tractor rides, for teaching me the trick to getting the honey out of honeysuckle, and how life will make more sense if you sit down with a pot of snap beans to pop while you think about it.

  Thank you for the endless expanse of land where

  I always seemed to be able to find my true self,

  and for always being my favorite cowboy.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter One

  With adrenaline-spiked blood and tension locked tightly in his gut, Austin Camden dug his spurs into the bull, leaned in, and took one moment to clear his mind. The bull snorted and edged anxiously against the chute, trying to buck. Austin caught his right horn, making him snarl. “I don’t think so, motherfucker. Simmer down and take it. You’re getting rode.”

  With a half-smirk and a single nod to his own destiny, the quick creak of the chute-door hinge shot through his veins as he pulled up on the rope. The resin scent of his gloves coupled with the smell of dirt and sweat as he gulped a quick breath. The previously horizontal bull, named Mesquite Fever and known for his vicious temper, shot vertical in a quarter-second and was out of the gate.

  Staring down at two thousand pounds of fight and fury underneath his sore ass, every ounce of anxiety evaporated into the roar of the Cody, Wyoming crowd, all shouting, “Camden!” Determination seized him, swallowing him whole. He wasn’t going down, not yet. He wasn’t leaving without the satisfaction that always seemed just out of reach. The bull spun into his hand, and Austin automatically counterbalanced. He leaned away from the spin, constantly anticipating the next motion of the bull.

  He narrowed his eyes, locked his thighs around the beast, and let his training take over. Always the longest eight seconds of his life, but somehow, also the most rewarding. He was beginning to wonder if his life was measured in eight-second increments. On the bull, he was alive, heart thundering in his chest, blood surging through his veins, conviction in his soul. The rest of the time he simply existed, desperate and anxious for something he couldn’t seem to find.

  No one in his family understood what the hell he was doing. He didn’t care. All that mattered was the next high, the next eight seconds. After that, maybe he’d be able to figure out what hell it was he wanted. Probably not, but this sure wasn’t his last rodeo. He owed too many people too many things to quit now. Honing in on the energy of the beast, he leaned into the bucks and turns, letting his free hand work as a counter-weight. His year wasn’t ending in Cody. Not this time.

  His fringed chaps, curtesy of his sponsors, slapped against the bull’s hide. Sweat dewed under his hat and vest. He gripped his thighs tighter and clenched his jaw.

  “Look at him go, folks. Camden has had a heck of a good season. Got the form of all of the rodeo greats. Unless he gets thrown tonight, he’s lookin’ to take it all home with a Cody buckle, and then it’s onto Cheyenne. You’re gonna be shoutin’ ‘Camden’ in Vegas this season, no doubt.” The crackled rasp of the announcer was drowned by the mighty roar of the crowds when the buzzer sounded.

  Lowering his right hand and freeing his left from the rope, Austin bailed off of Mesquite Fever. Anger rose in the puffs of dirt surrounding him timed to the pounding hoofs of the bull. Damn thing chased Austin to the gate, horns first. Making good use of the half-second Jackson Sanders, his best friend and his personal bullfighter, offered him, he scrambled up the fence and waved to the fans who’d leapt to their feet, still cheering his name. They sure as hell would be shouting ‘Camden’ in Vegas. He wasn’t going back to Pleasant Glen, Nebraska without the PBR champion buckle strapped to his waist. After that, he’d be able to figure out the rest of his life.

  He couldn’t halt the broad grin that spread across his features as his scores bellowed down from the old Buzzard’s Roost judges’ box directly above his head.

  “Camden’s ride on Mesquite Fever scores an 89.2. That brings his average to 195, and he’s only got one more ride between him and the Cody buckle, ladies and gentlemen. He’s forty points ahead of Travis Anders, his closest competition. Let’s hear it for a champion rider.”

  The Buckle Bunnies Austin was beginning to think were permanent fixtures along the railings of the Cody Stampede Arena offered him lascivious grins and blew him kisses as he passed.

  “You coming to Silver Dollar tonight, Austin? I’ll meet you there,” a gorgeous blonde with her rack tied up in a low cut mid-riff shirt and sporting a ridiculous pink cowgirl hat cooed seductively. His eyes ran the length of her bare torso and then down her tanned legs that went on for miles.

  “Yeah, Austin. Come celebrate your win with us.” A brunette nearby immediately leapt on the bandwagon.

  It was flattering as hell, he had to admit. He’d been winning all season. The women, the sponsors, and his competition had all taken notice. Problem was the bunnies had lost their appeal somewhere between Ocala and Tulsa. Eventually blowing your load in any random woman readily willing to pony up for you proved completely meaningless. Fuck. What was wrong with him lately, anyway? Beautiful women were throwing themselves at him, and he wasn’t interested. He should see a doctor. That fall he’d taken in San Antonio must’ve been worse than he realized.

  His ego attempted a satisfactory explanation. He liked his sex with an edge and a woman with some wild heat coursing through her veins. Brains made a big difference, though he was certain his sixteen-year-old self would never have believed that. And he wanted someone with some curves and some experience to keep him warm and sated. The Bunnies, most of them city-slickers that didn’t know a Hereford from a horse, offered him no challenge and definitely no heat. They eventually all blended together into one
boring fuck that felt good and then was over. He wanted and needed more, and that scared the shit out of him, not that he’d ever admit that. He didn’t do fear. It wasn’t in him.

  “Yeah, I’ll be at the Silver Dollar tonight. I’ll see you there, darlin’.” He called himself stupid for even going, but his sponsors expected him to put on the bull riding show, and dammit, that’s what he intended to do. You didn’t make it to Vegas hiding out in your hotel room bored and anxiously counting the hours until your next ride so you could attempt to gain something worth having. He was going to be the Professional Bull Riding Champion, and he was going to make use of all of the money and all of the perks.

  The icy glare shot from Travis Anders’ eyes cut through the dusty heat swamping Cody that evening. Austin chuckled. Anders had been chasing him all season. Most bull riders could appreciate an outstanding ride even if it was done by their direct competition. Anders’ sponsors were putting on the pressure, and he’d been a whiny douche ever since he got his ass bucked hard in Deadwood.

  “Anders,” Austin nodded as he waltzed by, making no effort to hide his smirk.

  “Fuck off, Camden. Nobody likes a show-off.”

  “Show-off?” Austin laughed outright. “Don’t get your panties in a wad, man. That wasn’t even one of my better rides.”

  Heading back behind the chutes to get his extra gear, his grin continued to expand as his team met him with exuberant congratulations.

  “Well done, cowboy. You made us proud.” The corporate exec from Minton, Clifton Taft, shook his hand. Minton had given Austin a chance after his less-than-stellar year before. They were a small denim and chaps startup in Oklahoma, and he was making a name for them with every win. Their sales had skyrocketed in the last six weeks.

  “There are men with luck and there are men with skill, Mr. Camden, and you’ve got both. The Ford Truck team is having drinks at Cassie’s. Come as my personal guest.” A top exec from Ford edged in front of Clifton. Austin saw his sponsor’s face fall in defeat.

  Austin shook the Ford exec’s hand but shook his head. “Thank you for the invite. I’m honored, but I’m drinking with the Minton team tonight.” He wouldn’t turn his back on Minton, not for all the money in the world. They’d stuck by him since long before he was seeded in the top ten. Ford could flash cash all night long and show off their Rolexes and fancy cowboy hats, but Austin was as loyal as they came.

  The guy from Ford faded into the crowd and headed Anders’ way.

  “You’d'a made him proud, man. That was one hell of a ride.” Jackson simultaneously shook Austin’s hand and slapped him on the back. He’d taken off his gear but his face was still painted for his bullfighting duties.

  “Yeah, well, thank you for the distraction. You’re the best bullfighter around. There’s a reason we’ve been best friends since we were five.” Austin tried to remove the image of Mesquite’s horns bearing down on him from his mind. Jackson had saved his ass once again.

  “Damn straight, I’m the best. Don’t ever forget it, but I’m serious, Max would’a loved that. You rode the hell outta that motherfucker.”

  Austin managed a nod. Why did Jackson always have to bring up Max? Couldn’t they leave that in the past? The haunting image of his own shattered reflection in the driver’s side mirror of his first truck stabbed through his gut for the thousandth time since that horrible night twelve years ago. It was the first time he’d seen terror in his own eyes. Splatters of rain on the windshield dotted Matt’s Huskers t-shirt just before the blood had seeped through the cotton. Austin could remember every detail of the moment that had all but destroyed his life. Ever since then, he’d been damned and determined never to let anything scare him. He’d never look in a mirror and see fear in his eyes again.

  Jackson, Max, and Austin grew up in Pleasant Glen together. They were inseparable. Austin’s father would let them ride the calves and break the green horses when they were old enough for that. When they were thirteen they worked all summer on Camden Ranch, Austin’s family ranch, and used their combined savings to purchase a Mighty Bucky bronc simulator so they could really learn the techniques.

  One stupid night when they were barely sixteen, they’d snuck out to the rodeo in Broken Bow. The rain had poured. The streets were slick. It hadn’t occurred to them that they wouldn’t hold the rodeo in the storm. The drunk driver never even stopped at the light two blocks from the arena. Even if it hadn’t been his fault, Austin had been driving, and he had never forgiven himself. He never would. With a quick glance skyward, he hoped somehow Max knew how much he and Jackson missed him, and that they’d never given up the rodeo dreams they all shared as kids.

  “Let’s get outta here,” Austin urged.

  “See ya at Silver Dollar. I promised the cute little blonde in the pink cowgirl hat a ride,” Jackson smirked.

  Cringing and beyond certain that she saw getting a ride from Jackson as a pathway to him, Austin kept his mouth shut. He’d much rather be on top of the bull, not in front of it. The bullfighters were fierce and nothing scared them, but the women never saw it that way.

  Before he had time to worry over Jackson, he heard the gruff sneer of Brantley Preston drawing ever closer. Of course, Preston’ll have something to say about it. “I want Mr. Camden’s bull checked. He’s been just a little too lucky this season.” Brant passed Austin, followed by his Preston Cattle brown-nosers.

  Austin rolled his eyes. Brant was a prime, Grade-A, asshole of epic proportion. He’d had it in for Austin ever since he’d seeded himself on a bull from K&H instead of Preston Cattle. His father was a former bull team owner turned stock supplier, and Brant was constantly looking to get his daddy’s bulls sold into the competition. His father, Brant Sr., was a wealthy rancher from Dallas. The fact that he was a shitty stock contractor was none of Austin’s business. Not his fault they almost always supplied duds, until this year.

  “You’re so full of shit, Preston. Nothing wrong with that bull. Damn near did a handstand out of the chute,” Austin huffed.

  “It’s interesting to me that your number with Dallas Devil hasn’t come up. Why do you think that is?”

  “You all draw the numbers and tell me who to ride, Brant. What’s that saying? Some’um ‘bout if you can’t ride, get the hell outta my way.”

  “I doubt you’ll be quite so smug after Dallas Devil takes you down.”

  “Then either put me on him or shut the fuck up.”

  Six weeks ago, Preston Cattle had supplied a new bull to the PRCA. Dallas Devil was a massive rust-red ball of fury that flew out of the gates like a bat out of hell. Rank as they came, he’d already sent three riders to the hospital. Two of them were out for the season. A week ago in Tulsa he’d hooked a fighter. Austin showed no fear when he talked to Brant, but a tinge of nerves twisted up his spine.

  “You’ll be paired with him sometime, Camden, then we’ll see whose name they’re shouting in Vegas. Guaranteed the winning bull will be from Preston Cattle.”

  “I don’t give a damn where the bull’s from, Preston. The champion will be me.”

  Preston simpered while a photographer and reporter from the local Cody Enterprise asked Austin to pose for a front page picture.

  After a long shower and a quick call home to do just a little bragging, Austin sauntered into the Silver Dollar. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dimly-lit honkytonk, painted with neon splashes of light and low red and yellow stained glass chandeliers over the pool tables. It looked just like every other honkytonk bar in every other tourist-trap town he’d been in, dozens of them in the last eight states. Following the cheers of his name, he forced a grin and joined Clifton and the other Minton reps at the bar. A shot of Jack slid down the bar, landing right in front of him from the capable hands of the bartender. Austin offered her a nod of appreciation before he downed the whiskey, reveling in the burn that ignited in his throat and scorched down his chest.

  “When Mesquite spun twice I was terrified you were down the well, my friend. Th
at was some nice ridin’.” Scott Leonard, another of the Minton team, offered his congratulations.

  “Wasn’t as pretty as I like, but it got the job done.” Austin preferred never to think he’d done his best. He didn’t care for the idea that his greatest ride was behind him, and there was always room for improvement. Surely, if he’d really done his best, he wouldn’t still feel so damn lost.

  “Hey Austin, that was an amazing ride.” This time a trio of brunettes sauntered over. The one who spoke was already slurring. Her eyes danced like she’d had a month’s worth of liquor in the last hour.

  “Thanks, darlin’. Maybe you outta slow it down.” Reaching out instinctively, he caught her arm as she tripped closer to his bar stool. She giggled hysterically.

  Sighing, Austin tried to hide his eye roll. One of the other women elbowed her friend. “Oh yeah. We were wondering if you’d do some shots with us … or maybe off of us.” She hoisted her cleavage in his face and waggled her eyebrows.

  Clifton and Scott shot him envious smirks. “I should’a been a rider,” Clif teased. “Don’t let us keep you from your fans, Austin.”

  Yeah, thanks. He was growing weary of trying to appease his sponsors by showing off with the bunnies. “Tempting offer, ladies,” he lied. “I just got here. Night’s still young. We’ll see, but I gotta ride tomorrow night, and then I’m leaving for Cheyenne. Maybe another time.”

  Before he could fend off any other offers, “You are such a self-righteous asshole, Brant. Just give him to me!” screeched from the back of the bar.

  Fear was laced in the name-calling. Austin got to his feet. He didn’t have to guess which Brant had crossed the line, and so help him if Preston had done something to a woman, he’d skin him alive.

  “Come on, baby, hit me. You know you want to,” Brant taunted. He leaned down in the woman’s face, asking for it.

  Austin’s brow furrowed. He lunged and caught the woman in question before she went after Preston with both hands. “Whoa there, darlin’, I got ‘cha.” He wrapped his arms around her slender waist, trapping her arms by her side, and tried not to notice how soft and warm she felt against him, or the fact that her sweet little ass nestled his cock right between her cheeks when he tightened his grip to keep her from scalping Brant Preston. Having no idea what about her had triggered every protective instinct he possessed, he inhaled, desperate to absorb more of her. Her hair smelled of sweetened strawberries and cheap perfume. Her breasts rested against his forearm as he kept her pinned against him. His mind spun, absorbing the feel of body in his arms. His pulse quickened, and his longing found a fix. Some feeling he hadn’t felt in months, in years maybe, and certainly not since he’d driven away from the ranch at the beginning of spring, welled in his soul. Something akin to contentment surged through him, settling him on his feet. She somehow reminded him what it felt like to be satisfied and to be … at home.