Full Rigged (Lost Creek Rodeo #4) - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,8

tribute to the town, their heritage festival, and he went back when he could, to pay homage to the place that had done so much and meant so much to him. He could afford to find his new hazer there without sacrificing this season as a whole, and they’d just make it work.

That was it. Easy enough.

Ford sputtered his lips as he went over various options in his head, each without experience in the last few years, though they’d certainly practiced enough back in the day. But for three years, it had only been Marty, because they worked so well together.

Finding someone else for the rest of the season wasn’t going to be fun.

One step at a time, he reminded himself. Lost Creek and the Six would have his back, and they’d figure something out.

He turned up his radio and began beating a rhythm on his steering wheel in time with the song, whistling the melody. He couldn’t even bring himself to be all that stressed about his situation at the moment. Not when the Texas sky hung above him and the land stretched out so brightly before him. He was a Montana boy, but man, did his heart sure adore Texas.

Maybe this was the place he could fit for the future. Maybe there was something to that feeling he got each time when he came back.

It was almost like being home.

Without all the siblings and stress and itching to be away.

Ford loved his family. He just needed to feel like his life had a direction, like the rest of theirs did.

Maybe Texas could give that to him.

His mind became a hum of images and thoughts without much by way of context or theme, that blank openness that came with autopilot driving on wide-open highways. Words from songs would filter through, and he would absently sing along if he knew the words, maybe finger an imaginary guitar once he figured out the chords and notes.

Music was a family tradition, though he could fairly safely say he was the most musically-inclined of his siblings. Not the most talented, necessarily, but most inclined.

They made a pretty fair band when they were all together.

It had been a while since they’d played together. They should have done that while he was home.

He blinked as an exit sign caught his attention, his eyes flicking toward it.

Amarillo.

Man, he loved Amarillo. He hadn’t stopped in a few hours; he ought to stretch his legs and fill up the truck. Might as well stop at the Cadillac Ranch while he was here.

The place was the pride and joy of Amarillo, in a way. Ten classic Cadillac cars sticking out of the ground, noses buried in the dirt, and it was called art. He’d been to other parts of Amarillo several times over the years, but he’d only been to that place once.

Ford checked the clock on his dashboard, shrugging to himself. There was plenty of time to get down to Lost Creek before his first practice tomorrow. Late night, but if he got tired, he’d pull off and sleep. He’d done that last night somewhere after Colorado Springs, and he did it when he was on the circuit driving from place to place.

Might as well enjoy the drive he was taking and the beauty of the country he was so proud to be part of.

He took the next exit, whistling to himself as he looked for signs for the Cadillac Ranch. He could have pulled it up on his phone, he supposed, but where was the fun in that?

His phone began to ding and buzz in its holder, and he glanced at the screen.

The Chute was on a roll, it seemed. His friends in the Original Six had started a group text, and someone had named it The Chute, which made Ford wonder if they were cowboys or steers in the scenario. Whichever it was, the thread was always full of hot air and an excessive use of GIFs.

He couldn’t tell who had said what, or what the current stupidity was, but he’d have to check in pretty soon. There was nothing worse than not joining in when the guys were on a roll. The latecomer was automatically targeted, and it could get ugly.

Lars was still cranky about his turn last week.

Pulling into a gas station at a truck stop, Ford climbed out and started filling up the truck.

“No, Sherlock,” he told the suddenly whining dog. “Not here. You can get out in a bit, but not here.”