“There are schools for rodeo? What did they teach you?”
“Mostly how not to get broken when you get thrown,” Master Wylde said. “But eventually, we learned how not to get buckedoff, or at least, how to stay on for eight seconds more often than we got hurled to the arena floor.”
“Personally, I’d much rather face a half dozen of those murder mittens than be trampled by hooves and tossed in the air by horns heavy enough to break bones and puncture organs, but that’s just me,” Master Thorin said, shooting Master Wylde a scowl that seemed to convey a wealth of meaning.
Interesting.
I filed that away for later, wondering what the hell it was all about, and then bobtail bobbing, I skipped the rest of the way in the UTV, looking forward to preparing the first meal I had planned for them.
Chapter Seven
Thorin
“Finally! Payne, you have now done two things that no one else has ever been able to do,” I declared as I watched Wylde shake his head at the three marshmallows still remaining on the table. “You got him to eat cauliflower without complaining about it, and you found a game that he wasn’t instantly amazing at. Talk about a grand champion-level performance. If I had a trophy or a medal handy, I’d hold a whole award ceremony for you.”
“Could I choose a different reward?” Payne asked.
Wylde groaned while I grinned across the table at Payne. “You can choose any reward you’d like.”
“In that case, I’d like it very much if we changed the rules of the game a smidge,” Payne replied. “The loser can either lose a piece of clothing or answer a question of the winner’s choosing. Think of it as a cross between strip poker and truth or dare.”
“Oh, I’m game,” I declared, shooting a challenging look at Wylde.
“And I’m about to be naked,” Wylde replied as he ate the two mini marshmallows he’d managed to capture and picked up his straw.
Payne and I had already eaten ours, so he counted out fifteen more and stood poised for the next round to begin. The goal was to use the straw to pick up the mini-marshmallows through suction, which should have been something Wylde excelled at since that man gave the kind of head that could turn your soul inside out. Why he was struggling at this game was anyone’s guess, unless…
The thought that popped into my head was awful and downright scary. Hell, it was one I didn’t even want to contemplate, only now that I was, it made perfect sense and pissed me off all at the same time. That last bull ride, the one that had put him on the shelf, had ended when he’d been thrown and stomped on by the bull. The landing had damaged his shoulder, the hooves had ruptured his diaphragm and broken his ribs, one of which had punctured a lung. He’d told me he’d been given a clean bill of health, but now I had to wonder if something had been missed or if Wylde, stubborn, reckless, foolish Wylde, hadn’t been fully honest about something in his talks with his physician.
As Payne said, “Go,” and we leaned over the plate with the straw, trying to capture the marshmallows as fast as possible. I found myself running a mental checklist of the chores and activities we’d engaged in since Wylde’d arrived at the Ranch, trying to recall any instance where he’d struggled or been breathing harder than he should have been. I blamed the whirlwind of thoughts and the way I studied him over top of the plate as the reason he came close to beating me.
But he was still going to have to lose a piece of clothing.
“Here you go, one victory sock,” Wylde declared, folding it neatly and setting it on the floor beside his seat.
“A sock. Really?” I said.
“Oh, that just makes it more fun. Once he loses the other one, he’ll have to give up something big,” Payne said. “Like that t-shirt. That’s what I’m looking forward to watching him lose.”
“Looking forward to seeing me show some skin, kitty?” Wylde asked, winking over at him.
“Yes, Sir,” Payne replied, pink tongue flicking out to lick his upper lip.
Curse the rules and how good he was at this game, because I’d love to watch them both start losing clothing.
Wait.
The rules.
The loser either had to give up a piece of clothing or answer a question. So, all I had to do was win and hope he chose clothing over the question. Or did I get to choose? Wylde had chosen clothes, without waiting to see what Payne’s choice was, and he seemed all in on seeing Wylde’s come off, so it looked like we were playing to see how fast we could get Wylde naked, unless he found a way to catch up and keep up so we could see some of Payne’s clothes join his on the floor.
“Why is this… so… difficult?” Wylde panted as he laid his straw down in defeat again.
Maybe I studied him harder than necessary, looking for a sheen of sweat on his forehead or upper lip, but hearing him panting, yeah, I was concerned, but that conversation would have to wait until we were in our room alone.
“The trick is one long, continuous suck, from the time you touch the straw to the marshmallow until you’re ready to drop it on the plate, but if you jerk the straw, your marshmallow will go flying like your last two, which is sad, because then you can’t eat them.”
“My sucking skills must be rusty then, ‘cause that’s what I thought I was doing,” Wylde replied as he brushed his bangs out of his eyes.