Cowboy Protection

Chapter 1 

“Don’t flatter yourself, cowboy! I was staring at your truck.” Maverick Keyes leaned against his wheel well and grinned as Grainger and Hayden tumbled out of their shiny new Dodge, the twins all arms and legs and goofy grins. “Lord have mercy, y’all. You two have a good July break?” 

“Yes, sir!” Grainger said, giving him a wide grin. “Me and Hayden are ready to work, though. Momma was fixin’ to toss our happy asses out the damn door.” 

“She sent you some chow chow, says to say thank you for raising us, Mackey.” 

“Shee-it. I’m just trying to get you boys killed.” He’d been worried about taking them on if he was honest, which he was, if only to himself. Twenty was a wild time, and two twenties somehow worked out to the smarts of a single eighteen. Still, him and Tommy had talked on it, and the twins were strong, fearless, and focused on the dirt, so he’d hired them. Now they had a solid team, with Fabiano there to work as an alternate. It had only taken about a year. 

“Promises, promises.” Jack Boers wandered up, smacking one of the boys on the shoulder. “Lord have mercy, ain’t it fixin’ to come up a cloud?” 

Lord love a duck, Jack was a hot bastard with his silver hair and his deep eye lines. They’d knocked boots more than once, but Jack was a horndog that needed something Mackey wasn’t, so they’d decided ten some odd years ago to be the hand job type of friends. Still, he was the best buddy a man could have, and one hell of a safety man to boot. 

“It’s gonna pour, and my knees say it’s gonna be a gullywhomper.” He’d been enjoying the summer, but even in the south, September was whispering about autumn. “You seen Tommy?” 

“No, sir. I seen y’all and Ollie when I unloaded the horses. That’s it.” 

Mackey stuck his tongue out at Jack. “Grab your gear, boyos. Warm-up is in an hour. Don’t be late.” 

The twins saluted him and ran off, spending more energy than he had in his whole self. 

Mackey shook his head. “It’s hell getting old.” 

“No shit on that, cowboy. We having steaks after the show? I’m starving.” 

“Yessir.” First though, he needed to call Tommy and find out where the Aussie was. “You staying at the host hotel tonight?” 

“Shit yes. I love casino hotels. They suit me to the ground. I’ll see you in the arena, Mack-Daddy.” Jack patted his butt and wandered off. 

He grabbed his phone, punching the second number on his favorites, after Jack and before the twins’ momma, and waited for the son of a bitch to answer. 

“Oi, I’m coming. You’re such a mother hen.” 

“Uh-huh. You’re late.” He always told Tommy to be somewhere an hour before he was supposed to show. 

“Now, Mother. You and I both know I’m not. I’ll be there. I was having a lick of fun.” 

“Don’t.” He didn’t want to hear about whatever Tommy was doing or with who. That bastard just had to grin and twinkle those blue eyes and men and women alike opened their legs like they had a button. “Just come on.” 

“You want a cherry limeade? I’ll fix you up, Mother.” 

Oh lord have mercy, Tommy knew how to make him happy. “Make it a big one. Extra cherries.” 

“For you, mate, always.” 

Mackey hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Sorry son of a bitch. 

“Mackey, everything good?” 

God, but he hated that voice. Cody Roberts was the president of the league, voted in by the cowboys running shit, and his direct line to God, from what he understood. “Right as rain.” 

“Don’t talk about rain, buddy. It’s going to pour.” 

“Bulls don’t mind mud, and the arena’s covered. We’re good.” Only one he stressed was Jack, and his mare Princess was sure-footed as fuck. 

“Still, crowds don’t like it. They want sunshine.” 

Shit, they wanted wrecks, cowboy butts, and at least one great ride. The fans gave no shits about the other. “Yes, sir.” 

“Your team all present?” 

“Yes, sir. All checked in.” Mostly. In theory. 

“Good man. Have a good show. You ready for your TV spot?” 

“Yup.” Not even a bit. He’d just ramble on about how Sparkle Night always turned right and make faces at Danny behind the lens. “You putting Stock on live?” 

He made sure not to smile a bit. Stockard Manning was the clown, was in contract negotiations, and was possibly the meanest motherfucker on earth. They got along like a house afire. 

Stock and live TV? Not so much. 

“Fuck you, Mackey.” Cody did chuckle though. “Get to work, bud.” 

“Always working, sir.” 

Always. And his body knew it. Still, he had his team, new sneakers, good pain pills, and a cherry limeade on the way. 

It was fixin’ to be a good day.