32. You Don’t Say

Chapter 32

You Don’t Say

O akleigh stood on the platform, watching the stadium fill with rowdy fans who were bursting with excitement to see their favorite riders in action. The day of the competition had arrived, and the energy in the arena was thick with anticipation. She had settled into the prime seating overlooking the bull chutes, reserved exclusively for bull owners and the rider’s close family and friends. Oakleigh was proud to check both of those boxes that evening.

Leaning on the iron rail, she observed the last-minute preparations in the dirt below. With the cold weather in play, it wasn’t typical for the riders to compete during the off-season, but the cowboys were always good sports for the sake of charity.

Oakleigh finally heard Maeve’s boots clanging up the metal staircase with Harper following closely on her heels. She had been entirely preoccupied that afternoon, meeting with the team to ensure the Slims were pampered, fed, and ready to compete. Maeve took her place beside Oakleigh, propping her boot on the lower rail.

“She decided to come, huh?” Oakleigh remarked, giving a discreet nod to Harper.

“Yep,” Maeve answered.

There had been a fragile peace between them over the last few days. Oakleigh couldn’t pinpoint if it was the dose of humility from her upcoming divorce or maybe a bit of introspection. Regardless, Oakleigh remained cautious to protect herself, unsure if the change in their dynamic was something she could rely on.

“There’s our competition,” Maeve gestured down the line at Tucker Clay. The thin cowboy casually leaned his elbows on the iron fence rail beside the Melody Fields team. She tipped her hat to Tucker, who noticeably ignored the gesture.

“Guess it’s going to be that kind of night.”

Oakleigh looked around to see if there were familiar faces she recognized. Her eyes landed on Sam, their grumpy neighbor. His wrinkled, sun-weathered face wore his typical scowl as he sipped on a cold beer. “We’re surrounded,” she whispered. “Since when is Sam allowed in this section?”

Despite Sam’s age, the man had excellent hearing. “Since forever,” he barked. “I told you Callaways, you weren’t the only competition in town,” he announced. “Stetson Kennedy is riding for me.”

“You don’t say?” Maeve replied. Her tone was one Oakleigh knew well, and used when attempting to pacify and de-escalate tensions with Sam. “I haven’t seen Stetson in some time,” she commented. “Have you, Oakleigh?”

“Last I saw was his tail lights,” Oakleigh smirked, “when he was too much of a coward to ride Big Slim.”

“Always a smart comment with you,” he fumed.

Harper turned her head at Sam’s rising tone. “And what’s his problem?” she asked.

Maeve cleared her throat. “No problem at all — right, Oakleigh?”

“No problem,” Oakleigh repeated, quite unconvincingly.She knew Maeve was intent on keeping the fragile peace, and throwing Harper’s hot temper into the mix was the last thing they needed.

“Why don’t you take your mom down to check on the bulls?” Maeve suggested as though she could sense the inevitable escalation brewing.

“I’m sure she doesn’t care about that,” Oakleigh scoffed before noticing the unmistakable glance from Maeve that told her it wasn’t a suggestion at all. “Sure thing,” she pivoted.

“Oakleigh’s right,” Harper confirmed. “I’ve seen enough cows for my lifetime.”

“Let’s go, Mom,” Oakleigh insisted, pushing off the iron rail. To her relief, Harper didn’t dig her heels in on the issue.

Oakleigh led the way past the soft leather couches that held hefty ranch owners discussing rodeo business, and complaining about things they couldn’t control in drawling country slang. Her boots clanked down the metal staircase to where the massive bulls shuffled around in their pens. The area was dimly lit, and the air was dank, smelling strongly of barn animals.

There was a flurry of activity while the production crew made last-minute preparations for the event, which would be broadcast nationwide on the sports channel. The riders were hyper-focused on their pre-riding routines. Some were giving interviews, while others were applying a last coat of rosin to their gloves and ropes. The intense competition between them gave no indication that the event was only for charity.

“If you see production crew coming,” Oakleigh instructed. “Step aside and let them pass.” She glanced back at her mom to see if she understood.

Right on cue, the production team whisked past them, unfurling a bundle of cords and wires. Harper tucked in close to make room in the tight quarters.

“Feels like backstage at Pacific Crest, doesn’t it?”

The nostalgic observation caught Oakleigh by surprise. Although she rarely made it on time for service, the large event did have a similar energy to the family’s megachurch.

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Oakleigh replied.

Harper took a long breath as if the topic was a touch too raw. “So show me these big scary bulls you all keep going on about,” she pivoted, her tone bouncing high as though she were straining to keep it light.

Oakleigh made her way down the darkened, tight corridors, dodging the wide brims of cowboy hats as she went. When they arrived at Big Slim’s pen, she couldn’t help but shudder at their close proximity to the enormous beast.

“Big Slim,” she introduced by gesturing with her left hand, while flinging her right hand to the pen across the way. “Lil’ Slim.”

“Oh, it’s too dark down here,” Harper complained, retrieving her phone from the tight pocket of her designer jeans. She tapped her screen, turning on the blindingly bright flashlight. She whirled around, shining it directly into the cold eyes of the fierce animals.

“Mom, seriously,” Oakleigh exclaimed. “There’s a thin iron fence between you, and getting trampled to death.”

“Oh, Oakleigh,” Harper flung her hand casually, shrugging off the valid concern. “They’re cows. ”

Oakleigh steadied herself to rehash her harrowing experience of nearly being trampled to death by one of those cows, when she caught sight of the one cowboy she was hoping to find.

Crew was in a huddle, strategizing with his team. Sawyer did a double take as Oakleigh approached, giving a subtle signal alerting them to her presence.

“Hey there,” Crew turned, his voice swinging high with a nervous smile dashed across his face.

“What’s up, boys?” Oakleigh deadpanned, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. She knew him well enough to recognize when something was awry.

“Come on,” Sawyer interjected, “let’s leave ’ em to it.”

Wade spat a stream of tobacco on the dirt floor as he and Colton followed Sawyer.

Oakleigh folded her arms, scanning Crew for the truth. “This isn’t another proposal, is it?” she asked, getting straight to the point. “If I see my — the diamond ring, anywhere on a bull tonight, Crew —”

“Oakleigh,” Crew cut in. He rubbed the back of his neck, his usual confidence waning as he appeared to be gathering his nerve.

“I pulled Big Slim.”

The words hit Oakleigh like a punch to the ribs.

“Nope,” Oakleigh fired back before her filter could temper the bluntness of her reaction.

“I did,” Crew responded, taking her by the shoulders. “And I’m going to ride.”

Oakleigh swept his hand away, feeling her anger rise.

“No, you’re not, Crew.”

Harper, who could never seem to resist stepping into the fray, came to Oakleigh’s side.

“Oakleigh?” she interrupted. “Everything okay?”

Oakleigh glared at Crew, not bothering to rein in her overflowing emotions at what she perceived as utter stupidity. “Oh, nothing,” she replied, throwing her hands in the air. “My boyfriend just has a death wish.”

From behind her came the slow, smug drawl of a voice she hadn’t heard since the night of Crew’s terrible accident.

It was Stetson Kennedy, Crew’s long-time rival .

“You should listen to her, Crew,” Stetson sneered. “Everyone knows that bull is too much for you.”

“This is a nightmare!” Oakleigh exclaimed. She turned away, feeling Crew pull on her arm before she wrung it free.

“Oakleigh, wait,” he pleaded.

It was too late. She was already storming back toward the stairs to her reserved seat in the exclusive section.

“Oakleigh, you know I don’t have a say!” Crew called out after her.

Oakleigh knew he was right. The bulls and the riders were matched with a lottery, a random pick. However —

If anyone could do anything at all, it would be Maeve.

By the time she reached the top of the platform, angry tears were smudging her perfect makeup.

Dallas had taken his place next to Maeve. The two were deeply involved in a discussion over riding strategies, and predictions of who would place that evening.

When Oakleigh stepped beside them, Maeve took a second glance.

“Oakleigh?” she asked. “What’s wrong?” Her attention snapped to Harper, who was following closely behind.

“Not me this time,” Harper assured, putting up her hands in a display of innocence.

Oakleigh clenched her teeth, attempting to steady the shaking in her voice.

“He’s riding Big Slim. ”

Maeve inhaled, taking in the information. She crossed her arms as she collected her thoughts. “You’ve known this would happen eventually, Oakleigh.”

Oakleigh flung her hands wide. “Do something, Maeve,” she shouted. “Make him pull out of the competition.”

“You know I won’t do that,” Maeve replied. “This is the path he’s chosen — Crew’s a great rider, and he knows the risks.”

Oakleigh pulled her fingers across her brow, feeling her temper finally boiling over. She kicked the sole of her boot into a leather sofa, sending it sliding across the platform. Someone had probably noticed her outburst and pulled their phone out to record, but she didn’t care.

“He’s going to die, Maeve.”

“Have a little faith, Oakleigh,” Maeve said, keeping her voice steady and calm in a way that made Oakleigh want to scream. “Now have a seat, and calm down.”

Oakleigh reluctantly complied. Plopping down on the sofa, she buried her face in her hands. Maeve was right about one thing. He had been talking about riding Big Slim for so long, that it was only a matter of time until he pulled the beast’s name.

The announcer’s voice rang through the stadium, asking the audience to stand for the National Anthem. Oakleigh savored the quiet moment, collecting her emotions.

She felt someone sit beside her, and assumed it was Maeve coming to reassure her once again.

“I’m fine,” she informed. “Really, you don’t have to — ”

Raising her eyes, she felt her heart sink.

It was Harper.

“Oakleigh,” she scolded.

Harper’s stern tone was one that Oakleigh knew well, bringing back to mind all the years she had felt like a constant disappointment.

“Mom, don’t start,” she snapped.

“I know you’re upset for some reason,” Harper lectured. “But there are thousands of people watching you unravel — pull yourself together.”

Oakleigh glared at her.

“I wish you would just go home,” she lashed out. The words tasted bitter, and from the look on her mother’s face, she knew that they had hit their mark.

The announcer stepped into the center of the arena. He was wearing a tall, tan cowboy hat and blue wranglers. His voice boomed across the stadium, hyping the rowdy audience as he announced each rider by name. Oakleigh rose to her feet and left Harper behind, taking her place beside Dallas and Maeve.

Crew’s name rang out over the packed stadium, and the charismatic, handsome cowboy took to the dirt. He jogged out of the chutes, causing his fans to erupt in deafening cheers. Despite their heated exchange, Oakleigh yearned for just a simple look in her direction that would signal they were okay.

She didn’t have to wait long to get her wish.

Crew’s blue eyes found her on the platform. He put his hand over his lips and blew her a kiss, accentuating it with his charming grin. She clutched her hands to her chest, again feeling the sting of tears as her anger dissolved into a puddle of anxious worry.

The announcer removed his cowboy hat, and led the stadium in prayer for the safety of the riders. She felt Maeve take her hand, and Dallas’ wrap an arm around her shoulder.

She wasn’t alone — they all loved Crew.

When the prayer ended, the announcer went straight to business. “Alright, folks, let’s keep in mind this one is for charity.” He swept a hand to the platform. “We want to thank our bull owners for their contribution — Tucker Clay and Melody Fields, always a pleasure to have you.”

Tucker tipped his hat as the audience whistled and clapped.

“And, of course,” he continued, “Maeve Callaway Wilder and Callaway Ranch.”

At the mention of Maeve’s name, the crowd’s energy swelled into a low roar. She graciously smiled and acknowledged her fans. Clasping Dallas’ hand, Maeve included him in the moment.

Oakleigh stood beside them, overjoyed to see them celebrated — and gladly fading into the background.

The first bull in the chute belonged to Melody Fields. It was a solid, muscle-bound beast that rammed its shoulder repeatedly into the iron gate. The rider was a young man with ambition in his eyes. He mounted the bull, seemingly unbothered by the animal’s unbridled aggression .

Tucker spat a stream of tobacco on the platform as he finally spoke up loud enough to reach the ears of Team Callaway. “Now you’re going to see a real bull in action.

Oakleigh couldn’t help but crack a smile, noticing Maeve’s exasperated eye roll.

It felt good to smile.

The chute gate opened, and the bull lunged into the arena, sending up a cloud of powdery dirt. The bull had certainly been well-trained. It bucked hard, contorting its body with the goal of launching its rider. The young hotshot cowboy held strong until the blaring horn sounded, announcing eight seconds.

Leaping off the bucking bull and into the dirt, the rider fled to the safety of the iron fence, while the bullfighters distracted the angry animal back into the chutes.

Tucker whipped his hat off in frustration, cursing under his breath.

The next few rides were a blur while Oakleigh attempted to tame her rebellious nerves.

“This one,” Tucker announced. “He’s going to put us on the map.”

Sure enough, the next Melody Fields’ bull was a fierce one. The rider barely made it out the gate before he was ejected, landing hard on his shoulder in the dirt. Stumbling to his feet, the young cowboy dashed away from the bull’s stomping hooves, narrowly missing further injury .

“Ha,” Tucker turned to Maeve, stepping into her space. “Beat that Callaway .”

Oakleigh had a sharp reply on the tip of her tongue, but before she could fire it at the smug cowboy, she was distracted by a ruckus. Swiveling to find the source of the commotion, her eyes landed on the opposite end of the platform.

Harper had Sam cornered, and she was wearing a fierce expression.