Strung Up: A Blacktop Cowboys® Novella Read Free Page A

appreciate the invite. How are you really feelin’, little mama?”
    “I’m excited for everyone to see the facility. It’s been crazy today, running all over the place, getting everything ready.”
    Wyn loomed over her as soon as she stepped away from me. “When was the last time you sat down?”
    “I don’t know. I’m fine. Stop fussing.”
    “Like that’s gonna happen. Your ankles are swollen. You need to be off your feet until this shindig is underway.”
    His tone meant business. Mel’s diabetes added to my brother’s worries and she knew better than to argue.
    “We’re sitting at the far back table since it’s closest to the bathroom.”
    “Let’s go.”
    I trudged behind them. As soon as Wyn reached the table, he plopped down and scooped Mel onto his lap, kicking out a chair for her to put her feet up on. I made a beeline for the bar. I ordered two Fat Tires and brought one back to him.
    “Thanks.”
    Mel toasted with her bottle of water. “London and Sutton will be along any minute.”
    “What time does this start?”
    “The official program and introduction of the instructors begins at eight. Tours have been underway since about four.”
    “Now I wish we would’ve gotten here earlier,” I said, surprising myself and them. “I’d like to check it all out.”
    “I’ll give you a personal tour any time you want,” London said behind me. Then she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and squeezed me tight. “So, so, so glad you came, Cres.”
    “Me, too.”
    My brother Sutton dropped into the chair next to mine. Not only was I the youngest of the Grant boys, at six feet two and one hundred eighty pounds, I was also the runt of the litter. Both Sutton and Wyn topped me by two inches.
    Sutton’s way of saying hello was to grin at me before he swiped my beer. “Thanks.”
    Some things never changed.
    I got up to get another beer and just to be ornery, brought London back a double shot of tequila. London tended to get out of hand once the tequila started flowing and it was my right to encourage it on a night of celebration.
    “Ooh, you read my mind, Cres. Thanks,” London said and touched the plastic glass to my beer bottle before she downed the shot.
    I said, “You’re welcome.”
    “Really, Cres?” Sutton complained.
    Wyn laughed. “You brought that one on yourself.”
    “Yeah,” I retorted. “Next time, get your own damn beer.”
    And then it really did seem like old times. As if it’d just been last week that we’d all hung out, shooting the breeze and drinking beer. I even managed to laugh when London launched into a story about horse training that somehow shifted to potty training Brennen.
    But our family time ended all too soon. Before I had time to ready myself for being in a crowd, we were surrounded by one. The Gradskys descended. Berlin hugged me, Chuck and Macon shook my hand, followed by a reintroduction to London’s cousins who were running the dude ranch. That group expanded to include all the employees and their spouses until it seemed a hundred people were crammed into the space, all talking at once.
    Would anyone notice if I snuck out?
    Doubtful.
    I sucked it up and stayed until Berlin and Chuck took center stage.
    The crowd beneath the big top quieted as the introductions of the instructors began. I half-listened because I recognized a few names from the world of rodeo anyway.
    When the lines opened to the buffet, the crush of people made it hard to breathe. I slipped out the back, the opposite direction of the food line. I’d never been one for crowds and after spending the last two years in isolation, this scene sent me searching for solitude.
    A white catering van had been parked near the rear exit. It appeared I wasn’t the only one seeking an escape. A big guy, roughly the same size as Sutton, rested against the side of the van, one boot heel hooked to the running board. He wore dark jeans and a plain white button down shirt with a logo on the left pocket.