Outfoxed

“Trent, buddy. You gotta get your shit together. You gotta wake up, because you’re worrying folks.” 

Trent tilted his head, or he tried to. Okay, that hurt. Let’s not do that again. All right? 

All right, he told himself. What was the very last thing he remembered? 

He was in… somewhere. Nashville? He thought it was Nashville. 

Maybe New Orleans? Could be New Haven. Somewhere with an N. 

Surely not New Mexico? Hmm. 

No, it was definitely Nashville. The sidewalks singing—he remembered that. 

Okay, good. And then after that? 

He took a deep breath. Oh, yeah, that hurt too. 

So, he must have been riding. Hurting like this meant a wreck. 

He couldn’t smell dirt, so that was probably good. 

Of course, if he couldn’t smell dirt, he didn’t know where he was, and he had to wake up? 

That meant he was either in the hospital or in an ambulance. Both of those were bad. 

Didn’t sound like an ambulance. Didn’t feel like one either. They tended to be tight and loud and jostly, and someone was always bugging you. 

“I’m serious, Trent. You wake your happy ass up. I will kick your butt.” 

Okay, that voice—he knew that was Rope. His best buddy. His traveling partner. His neighbor. If Rope was here, it was serious. 

He licked his lips, wondering if he should ask for a drink or what the hell had happened to him first. 

“Thirsty,” was the word he croaked out. 

Well. That was fair. His body decided what it wanted to do, and fuck his curious brain. 

“Yeah? How about some ice chips? They don’t want you puking.” 

“Surgery?” he asked, because that was the answer to no puking. 

“You know it, buddy. You got yourself all tore up. Shoulder. Collarbone. Your right arm. Got some good bruises too. But they pretty much had to put that whole right side back together. It’s gross. Silas will be over the moon to see.” 

“Ice chips.” 

So, the shoulder blade and the collarbone break explained why it hurt to nod. At least his mouth wasn’t wired shut. That always sucked. 

“Did I win any money?” 

A sliver of ice slid over his lips, and he moaned. Oh, that felt so good. So damn good. 

“No, sir. Not a dime. Gonna make some money off talking about this wreck, if you’re lucky.” 

He should have retired last year. 

“Home.” If Trent was broke, he needed to be home. 

“Day after tomorrow. I rented a van. We’ll just drive it.” 

“Jude?” 

Rope snorted. “We got a baby coming, man. Any day. He’s at home. Just in case.” 

“The boy?” 

“I am not bringing my son out here to drive. He’s not old enough to help with that part. No, he is in school. You gotta focus, man. It’s April. He’s in school.” 

“Right. Sorry.” He wasn’t going to say that he didn’t need Rope to drive him home, or that he was going to manage it by himself or any of that shit because they knew each other well enough to know better. He’d driven Rope more places than he cared to admit, and his buddy had done the same for him. That was what traveling partners were for. 

Not that Rope was riding. Rope was retired. Rope had been retired for something like… two years, right? 

They hadn’t gone backward in time, surely. 

No. Rope said there was a baby coming, and they’d just done that, seemed like. Back last summer? Maybe they started back in the spring, after talking to every damn human being in Texas about having a baby. 

The simple fact was that Rope was still retired. 

“Man. I’m here for the sponsors. I was doing a signing and introducing that new bull.” 

This was why a man had a riding partner. 

Because they knew each other, and they didn’t have to ask stupid questions. 

Rope would just give him stupid answers. That was how it ought to be. 

“Did we go in on yaks together?” 

Rope cracked up, the laughter covering up the constant beeping. “You fucking know we did. You know how much yak butter sells for? You know how funny it is to watch cowboys try to milk a yak?” 

“Want to go home.” 

“I know. When you get the tubes out of your arms and out of your dick, we’re on it. We’ll just drive home, and get you settled.” 

“Swear to God?” 

“I swear by all I hold holy, man, and I got a lot of that.” Rope chuckled and leaned down, kissed his forehead like he was a little boy. “It’s time to hang your bull rope up, man, and come home. We’ll raise yaks and horses and cows and be happy.” 

Rope was right. He hated to admit it, but he might have done ridden his last ride. 

Maybe it was time to become an old cowboy with the ranch.