To All the Cowboys I’ve Loved Before. D. R. Graham

the rigging to her, so she can see what it feels like.

      She tips the brim of the hat. “Thank you.” Then she lifts the rigging to test how heavy it is. “Eight seconds doesn’t seem very long. Is it really that hard to hold on?”

      “Only when the horse is moving, darlin’,” BJ says.

      All of us laugh.

      Della hands the rigging back to me and runs her fingers over the tassels of our chaps, which are laid out in the back of the truck. Chuck’s are purple with yellow flames. BJ’s are two-tone blue. Mine are red, black, and gold. “These are pretty.”

      “Which ones do you like the best?” Chuck asks.

      She looks at him and notices the lightning bolts he got shaved onto the side of his head. They accentuate the ridiculousness of his mullet even more. “The red, black, and gold ones are my favorites,” she says. “But they’re all nice.”

      “Do you like my new haircut?”

      “Uh.” She studies it and her forehead creases. “It’s different.”

      BJ smacks him in the back of the head. “See. Even the sweetest girl on the planet can’t find nothing nice to say about that redneck mop.”

      “You don’t like my chaps. You don’t like my do. That hurts my feelings, Della,” Chuck shouts as he gets into the driver’s seat.

      She blinks as if she’s about to get teary eyed and then glances at me.

      “He’s kidding. It’s not possible to hurt Chuck’s feelings. And if people actually liked his business in the front, party in the back look, he wouldn’t wear it that way.” I open the back door of the cab for her and she climbs into the back-row seating behind Chuck. Then I walk around to get into the back on the other side. BJ takes the front passenger seat and we head out.

      “Your truck is really nice,” Della says to Chuck to smooth things over.

      “It’s too late for flattery, sweetheart. You already insulted my hillbilly hair.”

      “The truck really is nice,” she says to me as she runs her hand over the leather seats. “I had no idea trucks could be this luxurious.”

      I feign a sad look. “So, you weren’t impressed by my two thousand and five Silverado?”

      “Yes. Or, I mean no, I was. Impressed.” A scarlet hue rises up her neck onto her cheeks and the terror of offending me makes her eyes widen. “Your truck is nice, too.”

      “I’m just messing with you. Chuck’s truck is a sweet ride. It’s nicer than the rest of ours.”

      “Thanks, buddy,” Chuck says and reaches back to fist bump me.

      Pretending to be offended, BJ gasps and turns to glare at me. “You like Chuck’s truck better than mine?”

      “Chuckie needs to be the best at something. Can’t you let him have the best truck?”

      “No.” BJ crosses his arms to sell the sulk.

      Chuck holds his hand up to make us all be quiet as he sings the chorus of an old George Strait song, then he says, “Although I appreciate the compliment, Della. You can’t compare a man’s truck or cock to another man’s truck or cock unless you’re hoping for a fight.”

      “Watch your language, man,” I say.

      Chuck shrugs his shoulders apologetically. “Sorry for cursing. I should have said trucks and penises. Or is it peni? That sounds worse than swearing, if you ask me.”

      BJ takes a sip from his thermos, which is likely filled with vodka and orange juice. “You could use rig for both penis and truck.”

      Chuck points at him to agree. “Rig works. I like it.”

      Della’s eyes dart cautiously between each of us. “I can’t tell if you guys are joking or being serious.”

      BJ rolls his head to look at her over his shoulder. “We don’t ever joke about trucks. Or penises.”

      I wink at her and whisper, “They’re joking.”

      She nods, but her eyebrows are still cinched together from the worry that she’s done something wrong. After letting her sweat it out for a while, BJ reaches into the back seat and offers her a piece of licorice to show her there are no hard feelings. She smiles and takes one for herself and one for me. “So, which one of you is the best at bucking?”

      I chuckle at how her word choice sounds. I can’t help it. BJ turns in his seat to face her. “What did you call it?”

      “Bucking. Isn’t that what you call it?”

      “I call it a lot of things, darlin’. What do you call it, Chuckie?”

      “Dirty rodeo, entering the chute, eight seconds of glory, backing the rig up, or bareback bucking works, too. No matter what you call it, I’m the best at it. I ride ‘em like a pro.”

      Idiots. I should have known better than to invite Della along with them. It’s going to be a long hour of juvenile jokes and sexual innuendos.

      “They’re talking about sex, aren’t they?”

      “Yes,” I say, “We call it bareback bronc riding.”

      Since I’m the only one giving her a straight answer she turns in her seat to face me. “Are the horses wild?”

      “Not in the true sense of the word, no. They’re bred for bucking and raised in a pasture, but they have to be gentled enough to be trailered and loaded into the chute. Usually they’re geldings or mares.”

      “What’s a gelding?”

      Chuck raises his hand to ask a question. “Is balls a swear word?”

      I shake my head to ignore him, then answer her, “A gelding is a castrated horse.”

      Her face winces as if she can feel the pain. “And what happens if you all hang on for eight seconds? How do you decide who gets to win?”

      “Judges score each ride. They look at your form and style—how well the horse bucks and how well you spur. If you don’t mark his shoulders out with your spurs before his front legs hit the ground, or if you touch the horse with your free hand, you get disqualified. If the horse stumbles they might give you a re-ride.”

      “So, if today is the final round, which one of you is in the lead after last night?”

      “BJ has the highest score right now. But we all have a chance to win it today.”

      “Good job, Bailey.” She leans forward to pat his shoulder. “What’s the best score you can get?”

      He turns, still smiling from the compliment. “It’s scored out of one hundred. Posting in the eighties is really good. If we post something in the nineties you should cheer your butt off.”

      “All right.” She sits back to relax and adjusts the hat. “I’ll do a back flip and land in the splits if any of you score in the nineties.”

      The boys go silent in the front seat, no doubt imagining her doing bareback bucking acrobatics in her summer dress.

      There is no way someone as uncoordinated as Della could do a back flip. She obviously said it to pull their chains, which makes me smile. “Just make sure you don’t really blow out your knee when you do cheer.”

      She laughs and shoves my shoulder playfully. “I wish you hadn’t noticed that.”

      Chuck’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror for a second, then he glances at BJ. They probably think it’s only a matter of time before I end up handing over my rodeo winnings to them. It would be worth it, but what they don’t realize is a girl like Della would never give it up that easy. I’d have to work damn hard to even have a shot with her.

      Chuck