Chapter 24
I showedup at Gerardo's early Tuesday morning. He'd called in the whole crew, and ten of us made quick work of stacking up the bales in the hay barn. Tossing squares up to the top of the stack had my arms burning. The heat of a Missouri summer had me covered in sweat. Haying was hard work, but it also felt good. Together, we all finished emptying the trailer out by a quarter after five.
I'd just climbed down from the pile when my phone started ringing in my pocket. Pulling off my gloves took long enough that I missed the call, but it rang again immediately. That meant it was Shelby, so I swiped and pushed the phone to the side of my sweat-slicked face.
"Hey, you," I greeted her.
"How far along are y'all?" she asked. "Because I just clocked out, and my girl needs to go shopping."
I laughed at her timing. "Just finished. Still need to get the trailer back to the field, but I'm pretty much done. I need a shower, though, because you don't want to be anywhere around me right now."
"And all that hay itches," she said, proving she understood. "So go home and make it quick. I need to change, and then we're going to Rolla to hit the real stores."
"You bringing Eric?" I asked.
"That ok?"
"Yes!" I missed seeing the little guy. "And he'll give me an excuse to go home and fall asleep early. Damn, Shel, but my arms are going to be killing me tomorrow."
"Yeah, but means you'll have the strength to hold onto a bull," she reminded me, quoting back words I'd said to her so many times over the years. "And you have makeup on the list, so it means we're girling out, no rodeo talk -"
"The PBR is not rodeo," I reminded her.
"Close enough," she shot back. "Just go put on some tight jeans, Cody? I'll be at your place in half an hour."
She didn't give me the chance to say anything back, just hung up on me. Yeah, that was my best friend. Then again, her bossy attitude was half the reason I loved her. Thankfully, heading home was a short walk up the drive, so I should have plenty of time.
Dad "rented" the land for our trailer from Gerardo. He didn't exactly pay anything for it, though. He and Gerardo had been friends since they were boys. When my dad knocked up my mom, Gerardo had bailed them out with the lot. The plan had been for my older brother to grow up and help run the place, but he and Mom had been killed in a car crash before I was born. Well, it was more truthful to say when I was born, since the only one who'd survived the night of that wreck had been me in my mother's belly.
Which was how I'd grown up to be a bull rider. Dad had done his best to raise me, but without a woman in the house, he'd fallen back to the only thing he'd known: rodeo. All my life, I'd been his little helper. Didn't matter if that was holding the wrenches or figuring out how to cook in elementary school so we didn't starve - because my dad sucked at it. I'd always wanted nothing more than to make him proud.
That was why it hurt so bad when he didn't want me to ride in the PBR. Well, to be honest, he didn't say that he didn't want me to ride, he just wasn't as enthusiastic as I'd hoped. He kept worrying about me getting hurt, yet he was the whole reason I'd learned how to do this. All around town, they joked that my daddy wanted a boy, but he got me. Well, I was determined to show them that being a girl wasn't going to stop me.
And the first part of that was making sure that I didn't look out of place next weekend. I made it inside the house and didn't stop until I was in the shower. From there, I made a dash down the hall with just a towel, thankful I was home alone. I was dressed and brushing out my wet hair when Shelby honked from the drive, which meant she had the baby with her. No, he was a toddler now.
I climbed into the car and turned to see that Eric had grown even more since the last time I'd laid eyes on him. Maybe I was a bad friend. I was definitely turning out to be a very bad Auntie Cody, but the little boy still grinned with excitement to see me. I pinch-tickled his chubby little legs, making a fuss over him while Shelby turned the car for the highway.
"All right," she said, tapping her phone to turn on the GPS directions. "I've got three places on our list. Did you know that finding bull rider gear in boy's sizes isn't that easy?"
I laughed, turning back to sit properly in my seat. "You should try asking for women's stuff. They look at you like your momma dropped you on your head."
"Well..." Shelby said, and I knew what came next was going to be bad. "You could just tell them she did. Or pull the whole guilt thing and tell them she's dead so didn't get the chance."
"No." I rolled my eyes. "How about we just find something that goes with a pink helmet and black chaps, ok? I have those raspberry boots, and they look like they're close enough. I'm just not so sure about a pink shirt, though."
She nodded, her eyes still on the road. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find a nice black shirt with some color on it? And those boots are not going to work for riding a bull. Do they even have a spur bump on them?"
Yep, I loved it when she started talking gear like she knew all about it. Well, in some ways she did. Her husband rode a few times a year. He'd been more competitive before she got pregnant with Eric and then they'd gotten married. Now, he worked too much to get to the rodeo, but he was a pretty good guy. He also had no problem cheering me on. Not even when his best friend gave him hell for it.
But talking clothes made the miles pass. Before I knew it, we were turning into a western wear store, and not the cheap kind. With Eric trotting along between us, holding both of our hands, we walked into my version of heaven. Along the walls hung bull ropes and bells. There were four entire aisles of spurs and spur straps. One small corner had casual clothes, but the rest of the store was devoted to show attire. From horse shows to rodeo, it didn't matter.
My eye scanned for some hint of pink. By the barrel racer stuff, there was plenty. Then again, the shirts were pretty much the same. The whole point was a cut that would let us move our shoulders, a fabric that was heavy enough to keep the skin on my body when I hit the dirt, and enough bling to look damned good doing it. I grabbed a neon shirt that would match my helmet and held it up to my chest.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Too much," Shelby told me. "The helmet's bad enough. I mean, isn't there a point of too much pink? I thought you hated the color?"
"Well," I said, putting the shirt back just to reach for another, "J.D. had a good point. He told me that I need to stop chasing the boys and make them chase me. I need to stop trying to ride like them and embrace what makes me different." I paused to bob my head from side to side. "And he got me a helmet in pink. He's not really the kind of person you want to make mad."
"He's nice," she insisted. "And I think he's got a thing for his rookie."
I tried to blow that off, but it was a weak attempt. "Sunday, I would've said you were delusional."
"Mhm," she agreed. "So you did notice. Now, why aren't you dating him?"
I turned to her with my mouth open. "Because I've known him, Ty, and everyone else on the circuit for three whole days, Shel. What I know about these guys comes down to some very shallow things. Ty's sponsored by Wrangler. J.D. has a reputation as the bad boy - and a well-deserved one, I might add. Then there's the whole part about how I'm not riding bulls to get a date. I'm there for a check."
Behind us, one of the sales girls cleared her throat. "Um, I don't mean to interrupt, but does that mean you're Cody Jennings, the first woman to ride in the PBR?"
"Yes!" Shelby said quickly. "That's her!"
"Can I..." She pointed to the side. "I was watching it on ESPN, and when I saw J.D. Adkins give you that helmet? I thought it'd go perfect with this." And she pulled down a black shirt.
It wasn't as intricate as most of the other barrel racer clothing. When chasing cans, half the fun was being able to dress up. Half the girls wore bright colors and lots of sparkles, and the options for sale reflected the trends. This shirt, however, was different. It wasn't really flashy. The buttons down the front were pink, but that wasn't why she'd thought of it.
Down the side of the right arm, it said, "Girls do it." The letters were embroidered in a shiny green thread and outlined in pink. Then, on the left side, it just said, "Better."
"Sold," I told her, making my decision immediately, because this shirt really was perfect. "Guess I'm going to need some lime green boots to match, huh?"
"And a pink rhinestone belt," Shelby decided. "Get your dad to move the buckle over, but yeah. That'd tie in the helmet to the whole look, and you can still pull off the black chaps without looking too pink."
Together, the three of us - four, counting Eric - found the perfect pink rhinestone belt in my size, then headed over to the boots. Unfortunately, the shade of green I wanted only came in the style of boots meant for dancing. As I looked, the sales girl vanished, returning with a box just when I was ready to give up.
"Size seven?" she asked, pulling off the lid.
Inside was a pair of Ariat Fatboys. The shaft was the same color as the letters on my new shirt. The main foot was black, but a lime green line ran along the edge of the sole. The best part was that these were the kind of boots meant to be used, not shown off. I was nodding the moment I saw them.
"And at least three pairs of jeans," Shelby told me while I tried them on to find a perfect fit. "At least one black, one blue, ok?"
"Two black," I decided, "because I own a few in various shades of blue."
She and I went to find those. Eric followed along, wanting to touch all of the shiny material he could reach. The sales girl, however, went back to her counter with my boots. When we finally made it back there, we'd found four pairs of jeans. Two black, one indigo, and one pair that had so much bling on the pockets that I'd never consider riding in them, but they'd work perfectly if Ty asked me out on a date. Well, Shelby said J.D. - but someone.
Our sales girl had been just as busy. Stacked up beside my shirt and boots was an entire selection of tapes, a pair of spur straps that would match my shirt, and a bag of leather thongs to hold my gear in place. She looked up with an embarrassed smile.
"I just figured that if you're really riding, you might need some supplies, and these are the brands most of the guys go with. I mean, so you don't have to hunt it down. And then I saw the spur straps, and well, I didn't know if you'd like them."
"I do," I assured her. "I'll need the tape, have the leather, and I need to grab a replacement rope. Do you have a pink or green rope bag? Mine got ruined last weekend."
She bit her lip and her forehead creased. "No one sells bags for bull ropes in pink, but..." Then she headed down the counter, looking underneath where I couldn't see. "Someone custom-ordered this a couple weeks back, and it was supposed to have been burgundy, but..."
She lifted up a bull rope bag that was definitely not burgundy. Magenta would've been closer. Maybe even fuchsia. It was a shade too dark to be neon pink, but only barely. The best part, though, was that there weren't any words or logos on the outside. Just a simple nylon bag shaped to keep my rope from bending weird.
"How much?" I asked.
She grinned. "I'm allowed to sell it for forty bucks, because it was a reject."
I just pointed at the counter. "You have just become my hero..." I looked at the name tag on her shirt. "Miranda."
That earned me a massive grin. "Thank you! I just got so excited to see a woman riding in the PBR. I mean, my boyfriend thinks you'll never make it, but you were in twenty-first place overall by the end of the weekend."
Shelby lifted Eric up to her hip, but she was beaming at me just as much. "Well, tell your boyfriend that she's been riding her whole life, and she's gonna make us all proud."
"Y'all," I insisted, "I'm not doing this as some kind of social justice thing. I just want to ride in the pros."
"Mhm," Shelby said. "Well, I dunno how to break this to you, Cody, but we want you to make a point. You're good. You're damned good - " She paused to glance at her son. "I mean very good. So, we're all hoping that you'll show the boys that the girls can do it too, ok?"
I just nodded and passed over my credit card. "Ok. I mean, that's a thousand dollars of proving it, so why not, right?"
"That's my girl," Shelby said.
"And my hero," Miranda mumbled under her breath.