I’m his woman.
“Bat—tle … Bat—tle … Bat—tle.”
Thousands of adoring fans chant his name, but they don’t know Battle. I think back to what he told me the night we met, about him being insignificant. I remember telling him he was wrong because so many people worship him. I won’t say he was right. In the big vast universe he speaks of, maybe we are insignificant, but it’s only the small universe we create around us that counts. And to me, and his friends who he’s fiercely loyal to, he matters.
He pulled the unluckiest draw of the night, and needs a score of ninety-four to beat Austin and win the rodeo. Riding Suit of Armor will boast a large score if he can last eight seconds, but so far, no rider has tamed the young bull. He winks before signaling to his crew that he’s ready.
Marty and Ginger cheer him on as Suit of Armor bolts from the shoot. The bull screeches to an immediate halt and heaves his ass in the air, launching Battle forward. When Battle comes down, he slips to the side, losing his position on the bull as well as his control.
Suit of Armor bucks wildly, flinging Battle around as easily as a piece of paper. I notice his hand caught up in the rope and scream. As help arrives, I pray for things not to end badly. I clutch my chest, waiting what feels like minutes, although in real time, only seconds pass. He’s freed and falls to the ground, only to be horned in the ribs before the bull is drawn away.
I try not to panic as he lays still. I’ve seen riders fall. Hell, I’ve seen Battle fall, but that was before he was significant to me. Before I had a reason to be afraid for him. I’m frozen against the steel railing, not entirely sure I’m breathing as I silently yell, “Get up,” over and over.
He rises to his feet, although slowly, and I nearly collapse. The crowd roars to life as Battle removes his helmet to wave his gratitude. His eyes find me in the crowd, blowing a kiss my way. I blow one back as he exits the arena. The announcer says, “Ladies, I hate to break it to you, but it seems Battle McCoy is spoken for.”
I hear a female voice behind me say, “That’s why he fell.” She laughs. “Got a girl distractin’ him.”
I spin, deciding if I want to waste my time on this woman, when Marty steps in front of me.
“Ignore her. She’s nothing but a nasty, jealous twat,” she says, loud enough for the woman to hear.
“What did you say?” the woman asks.
Marty turns her head. “You heard me, greenie.”
I laugh.
The woman makes a face. Obviously she’s never heard the term green with envy. “Oh, you got me,” she says, giggling with her friends.
We walk away from our seats, while the woman continues yelling how Battle being with me is a distraction. Marty tells me again to ignore her. I want too, but I also consider she has a point. I don’t want to think about it, and I don’t want to take away from Marty’s happiness. Austin won the event, and she should be celebrating.
She gets her chance when Austin exits the arena. He holds his hands high in the air shouting, “Who’s the man?” Everyone screams their congratulations. Marty squeals and runs to him, jumping in his arms and showering him with kisses. He kisses her back, calling her his good luck charm. I’m happy for Austin. He had a stellar weekend. I’m even happier for my friend, who I’m pretty certain is in love.
The group mingles nearby talking as I pace off to the side, worrying about how Battle’s taking the loss. He’s lost before, but I’ve never se
en it with my own eyes. I have no idea what to expect. This morning, he felt confident this was his event to win. He flashes me a gorgeous smile as he and Tucker exit the arena, easing my concerns. I go to him. His arms snake around my waist, drawing our bodies together as his lips graze my cheek.
“You feel so good,” he breathes in my ear, before pulling back to look at me.
“Are you okay?” I ask, curious of a few things—the loss, falling, and if he’s injured.
“I ain’t hurt, just a bruise. It’ll heal.”
Before I can ask about the loss, Austin approaches him. Battle hoists his friend in the air in a hug and sets him down.
“Congratulations you little shit. You finally beat me.” Battle’s hand lands on Austin’s shoulder. “I’m proud of ya, bro. That was some fine ridin’.”
“Shit. I think Faye’s turnin’ you into a pussy,” Austin says and turns his head, but I catch him swipe his eyes. Battle’s approval means more to him than he can communicate.
I swell with my own pride, amazed at what Battle means to his friends—definitely not insignificant.
The lot takes little time to clear out as riders pack up their sites to return to their lives. Marty and I watch a chick flick inside while the guys pack up the motorhome. We offered to help, but Battle suggested we give him and Austin some time with Cooper. I assume they’re trying to cheer him up as he’s been quiet all morning, and bowed out of his ride today. Their relationship may be toxic, but Cooper’s obviously upset about Rachel ending things. I’m slightly annoyed with his pouting as he’s the one whoring around.
“I feel bad for Coop,” Marty says.
“Really?” I ask, and she nods. “I don’t. If he didn’t get into bed with every cowboy clinger that came along, he could save his relationship.”
“And if Rachel would leave her husband, Coop might do that.”