Chapter Three

Nash Weaver

A fter arriving at the Killeen Rodeo Grounds, Nash parked in the area reserved for the cowboys and reluctantly headed over to the bull pens. “Another day, another kick in the ass,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting the brim of his cowboy hat. It was not just being stuck in backwater towns with nothing but rodeo hicks and cow shit for company. It was that he should have still been in the FBI working on important cases.

But this case was vital to Shelby’s success, so he would pretend to be someone he wasn’t. Even if that made him feel like their grifter father every time he sauntered into the rodeo. Nash put those feelings aside because he couldn’t afford any missteps, any moments of vulnerability that might expose his true identity.

There was a price to pay for living a double life, though, and Nash felt it keenly. As he buckled up his chest protection and headed out to join the other riders, he realized he was lonely. Any shared camaraderie was false and he felt like a con artist being fake to good people who took him at face value.

The only person he could be himself with was Dolly and there was a small part of him that couldn’t quite take her off his suspect list. He wondered, though, if that was just an excuse he was giving himself to keep her at arm’s length.

And yet, despite the constant strain of keeping up appearances, Nash couldn’t deny that there was something strangely intoxicating about the rodeo world—the raw energy of the crowd, the lure of danger and excitement. Being undercover was almost like being back in the field again.

“Hey there, Nash,” a voice drawled from behind him. “You look about as excited to be here as a steer at a branding.”

Nash turned to see Barney, one of the rodeo clowns he’d befriended over the past year and a half. “Just thinking about how I’m going to stay on Tornado,” he said, forcing a half-smile.

“Guts will get you on the bull, but it’s skill that keeps you there.”

“Skill, huh?”

“Yup. And a little bit of crazy. Just grip him with your knees and keep your ass in the saddle,” Barney replied, slapping Nash on the back.

Yeah, like it was that easy , Nash thought. But he kept that sentiment to himself, instead saying, “I can do that.”

“Damn straight,” Barney declared, adjusting his oversized suspenders. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to make a few thousand people laugh.”

“Knock ’em dead,” Nash said, forcing a smile.

As he watched Barney strut off toward the arena, Nash felt a flicker of envy. The rodeo might be a far cry from the life he’d known as an FBI agent, but at least it was honest work. Barney was doing something he loved, something Nash desperately missed. He supposed if he was getting any traction on the investigation, he might have felt differently.

But for now, all he could do was watch and keep up appearances, waiting for the day when he could finally step out of the shadows and bring his sister Blevins’s head on a proverbial platter. Until then, he’d have to hold on tight and ride it out like the rest of the cowboys, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t get tossed on his ass.

Again.

“Hey, Weaver!” called out a voice, as Nash was heading into the chutes for his ride. He turned to see Finn Laker, the UPRC’s newest all-star. “You’re up next. Think you can handle Tornado?”

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

If Finn was the golden child of the rodeo, Nash was on the opposite end of the spectrum. He had the worst record in the league and people were starting to grumble about Nash being at events while more qualified cowboys had been edged out. This was the first ride of the season and he needed to score high enough to stop the gossip and rumors. He had to stay with the UPRC, to unearth Blevins’s secrets without revealing his own. The balance was precarious, like riding a bull—one wrong move and he’d be thrown.

Nash got into position while the rodeo hands steadied Tornado into the chute. The bull was a big, mean son-of-a-bitch, but that described most of the bulls. Settling on the bull’s wide back, Nash adjusted his grip on the bull rope.

“Eight seconds. That’s all you need,” Finn said, as the gate swung open.

Nash needed to do this. For Shelby.

The gate burst open, and Tornado exploded into the ring. With a surge of adrenaline and determination, Nash held on tight as Tornado bucked and twisted, trying to shake him loose. The roar of the crowd and the pounding of hooves filled his ears, drowning out the doubts and fears that plagued him. For those brief moments, he was a bull rider—nothing more, nothing less. Nash’s world narrowed to the violent jerks and twists beneath him. Muscle and sinew strained against the fury of the bull, his focus laser-sharp on maintaining his precarious grip. Eight seconds stretched into an eternity until finally, the buzzer sounded, and Nash was flung from Tornado’s back like a rag doll tossed by an angry child.

The sweetest sound he had ever heard was that eight-second buzzer. He had managed to stay on the damned thing. Maybe those lessons with Trent over the winter break had paid off after all. He dismounted and stumbled away from the heaving beast who was panting from the exertion. Nash could relate. He ignored his own shaky legs while he returned to the back area where the VIP fans were allowed. All he wanted was a shower and a beer, though.

“Nash,” Dolly called out as she moved through the crowd with an infectious energy that made people stop and stare. She was like a magnet, pulling people toward her with her contagious laughter and genuine charm. He watched her with fascination, admiring the way the sunlight danced in her blond hair. She was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Too bad she was such a pain in his ass.

“Damn, that girl’s got a laugh that could bring a man to his knees,” Finn said from beside Nash when Dolly stopped to talk with a group of barrel racers.

Dolly wasn’t just a pretty face, though. Beneath her confident exterior lay a sharp mind that put her expertise in social media to good use for the UPRC rodeo. More than once, Nash had found himself impressed by her resourcefulness and grit.

“And a tongue sharper than a knife,” Nash said. And she wasn’t afraid to use it either.

“Y’know, I heard she used to be a professional cheerleader,” Finn continued, taking a swig of his beer. “Hard to believe she traded the big-city lights for this dusty old rodeo.”

“She must have had her reasons,” Nash said.

“Probably aged out,” Finn said. “But damn, I’d hit that.”

Nash wanted to hit him, but he tamped it down. He didn’t have any reason to feel protective toward Dolly. He just didn’t like Finn disrespecting her. But he also wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about his social media presence or lack of it, so he moved through the crowd quickly. He wasn’t exactly running away from her—more like walking fast.

“Hey, y’all!” a voice called out from the sidelines, drawing his attention. It was Lila, one of the girls who followed the rodeo all over the country. She held out a bucket of ice with a bunch of beer bottles sticking out. “Thought you might need some refreshments.”

“Let’s get some of that,” Finn said to him with an elbow in his ribs.

“A beer sounds pretty good,” Nash said, even though out of the corner of his eye he could see that Dolly was still trying to get to him.

“That’s not all you can get,” Finn said as they walked over to Lila.

Nash was aware that Lila would gladly go home with either one of them, or both, if the rumors were true. But he didn’t have time for a romp in the sheets, even if he had been interested in Lila’s no-strings offer.

He took the ice-cold bottle with a grateful nod. Yet he still searched out where Dolly was. He had promised to do a few promotional photos for her. If he put it off, it would only make her more determined to hunt him down. Another bull rider, Keith Kilgore, had stopped her and was obviously trying to get her to take a picture of him.

Better Keith than him.

Still, Nash didn’t like the way the guy was aggressively squaring off against Dolly. He wondered if he should step in, but then she said something, and Kilgore backpedaled a few feet before turning tail and running.

Thatta girl.

“Cheers, boys,” Lila said, raising her own bottle in salute.

“Cheers.” Nash clinked bottles with her and tried not to see the offer in her eyes.

He scanned the VIP area instead, trying not to stare too closely at what looked to be a drug deal or an exchange of some illicit goods happening. He didn’t recognize the one doing the selling, but the buyer was Taylor Keating, Barney’s son. Nash sidled a step in that direction to get a better vantage point, but Lila stopped him with a hand on his arm.

Damn it. He hated that this cowboy gig got in the way of him doing his job.

“You did real good today, Nash,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.

“Didn’t beat my time,” Finn said with a frown. And even though Nash had stayed on his bull for eight seconds, his score wasn’t good enough for a second ride.

“Nobody can touch your time,” Nash said, taking a step back so Finn could lean on the railing closer to Lila.

Lila giggled when Finn reached into the ice bucket and slipped a cube down her shirt.

Dolly would have socked him one if he tried that shit with her. When he glanced back at where he saw the exchange happening, both parties had faded back into the ground. Crap! Nash made it a point to find out what Taylor had been buying and who the cowboy was who was selling. He hoped for Barney’s sake that it was not what it had looked like. But if it was, he hoped from the investigation standpoint that the seller had ties to Blevins.

Nash’s phone buzzed. He saw it was a text from Shelby. I’m sorry. I tried to stop this. But I can’t. You’re off the roster for tomorrow and Laredo.

“Son of a bitch,” he snarled.

Lila flinched back and Finn raised his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Nash said, wiping a hand down his face. “Bad news. I’ve got to go.”

He had to get out of here. Ducking into the locker room, Nash grabbed his gear and went out the back. All he wanted to do was get into his truck and head back to his motel. He would have to find a way to investigate Blevins without being part of the rodeo. It pissed him off because he felt like he was failing Shelby again.

Shelby was calling him now. Reluctantly, he answered it as he was heading toward the parking lot.

“What now?” he asked.

“Dolly seemed to have a good idea about you appealing to the fans more by doing promos around the rodeo.”

“Seriously? Why does that even fucking matter anymore?” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He didn’t mean to take this out on Shelby, but he was so frustrated with the situation.

“Look, it’ll give you a reason to be on-site. I’ll text her to have a guest pass for you at the gates.”

“A guest pass?”

“It’s the best I can do. Maybe Dolly has some other ideas.”

Of that, he didn’t have a doubt. She always had ideas. The problem was they tended to skate the line of rule breaking and lying. Still, he couldn’t deny she got results. He wondered though if that made her more like Miles and his father. The comparison didn’t sit well with him. But the thought that maybe he’d judged Miles too harshly niggled at the back of his mind. Did the ends justify the means or was that the slippery road that had led his father down his life of crime?

“Meet her by the barrel-racing events. She’ll fix this. It’s what she does.”

Nash stopped dead in his tracks. He wanted to get the hell out of here. He didn’t like the feeling of being forced out of a situation again. But he didn’t have a choice. Not if he wanted to help nail Blevins to the wall.