Fil 'Er Up - Jon Pardi

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COLT

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Troy and his fan club are finally behind bars, serving time as no one wanted to bail them out. They destroyed their credibility in this town, replacing it with disappointment.

Troy's father, a lawyer, apologized to my father on behalf of his son's actions. Troy and his friends would be paying out of their own pockets for every single apple tree destroyed in North Georgia, totaling almost a thousand trees.

Charlie and I headed out of town for the weekend to Chattanooga for a rodeo. It was a decently sized one, the pot totaling about twenty thousand. We brought Major and Ace to compete in our usual classes.

I was a newbie here. I knew none of the riders since we weren't in the usual areas I rode in. Knox and the boys weren't here with me for the first time in years. It was just Charlie and I against the new people.

The riders here didn't have the southern class they did in South Alabama. They were here to win and not here to have fun. I couldn't care less about the money. I mean, of course, I would beg on my hands and knees for someone to hand me a twenty thousand dollar check, but if I'm not loving what I'm doing, it's pointless.

There were new riders, new bulls, and a new crowd where no one knew who I was. It was almost refreshing—a clean slate. Charlie probably would know more people here than I would since Chattanooga isn't too far from Ellijay.

I wish I could do more sometimes. I want to be at a rodeo with ten thousand people under the lights. The more pressure, the better I am.

I watched Charlie as she galloped around the barrels in the arena, Ace's specialty, standing tall in the saddle as she dived into the barrel, turning as quickly as she could. I've said it before, but that horse loves his damn job. He'd do it just himself if he could. Charlie barely pulls on the bit in his mouth. He knows the drill.

I could do it in my sleep if I had to do it like him repetitively. At least with reining and cow roping, it's all different. I've been trying to teach Charlie to rope so she can be my partner when I don't have mine, like tonight, but her patience is too low to focus on. She gives up after about five minutes, going inside to lie on the couch. I'm pretty sure Lucky could put forth a better effort than her.

She hits the last turn, Ace galloping down the arena centerline as fast as he could, racing out of the ring and into the grassed lot. She finds me standing by myself near the railing. She wears the happiest smile of them all; she and Ace breathe rapidly.

The barrel racing pot tonight was about five grand. If Ace ran like he usually did, she probably earned some cash. "Looked great," I tell her, patting Ace on the neck. As her coach, I wanted to lecture her about taking straighter lines, but as her boyfriend, I wanted to congratulate her. I promised once we got to a rodeo, Coach Dutton was gone. I was Colt. She'd fire me for any other coach. I'm almost positive.

She throws her leg over Ace, hopping off him, "Totally different atmosphere here."

"I think it's because there's hardly any rednecks here. The entire rodeo screams, "I have money," which is a good thing if you're looking to win."

"Yeah, only redneck rodeos have a beer-drinking contest during the breaks."

I chuckle, throwing my arm around her as we walk toward the trailer, "You think you won?"

"Compared to how these women and horses look compared to me, probably not."

"Babe, have some faith in yourself. You're a great rider."

"It's hard to have faith when the girls wear two-hundred dollar Seven jeans, five grand saddles and tack, and the expensive ass horse."

"You look sexier and ride a hundred times better than all of them combined. So what if you don't have the newest hottest saddle? They look straight out of a magazine, not a speck of dust on them. You at least work hard for everything you do."

"You have to say that because you're my boyfriend."

"Charlie, I'm three seconds away from smacking the shit out of you. You ride a hundred times better than any of them. They sit there and beat their horse to go a millisecond faster. You care for your horse, letting him go as fast as he wants, barely tugging on his mouth. That's why that girl over there is throwing a tantrum 'cause her new horse turned the barrel down going by it." I point to the girl in the trailer next to us, throwing the horse at her dad, pissed off.

She sighs, tying up a hay bag to the side of the trailer for Ace to munch on, "Fine. Let's see what place I got. I hardly ever win anyways."

I roll my eyes, following her to the tent where the posted scores are. I look over her shoulder as she looks for her name on the numerous sheets of paper. Her name is posted on the top of the sheet as the winner. "Char, you won! I told you, lucky."

She grins, "I won five grand, Colt. Oh my God!" The man immediately goes to write her check, congratulating her. We walk back to the trailer when she wraps her arms around my neck to hug me, sending both of our hats to the ground. "Thank you for believing in me."

"I'll always believe in you, baby." I hug her back, picking her off the ground and twirling her in a circle. "Guess I better get ready to ride." I kiss her gently, squeezing her ass, before letting go.

I grab the hats off the ground, setting mine back on my head. I pull my chaps on and zip up my vest. I kiss her once more before jogging to meet with the rest of the bull riders on top of the chutes.

It's weird standing next to a bunch of guys I've never met. They stared at me like I was out of place, making me feel exactly like that. "Never seen you around here," a guy with tattoos crawling up his neck said.

"Moved to Ellijay in May. I'm from Montgomery. Finally trying a rodeo up here in the mountains." I raise my hand for him to shake, "Colt Dutton."

He shakes it, gripping my hand as if it were a contest, "Riley Redman. Im close to ya. I'm in Dalton. Nice to have some competition; most these guys suck, if ill be honest."

I chuckle, "Most the guys in Bama could ride a bull backward if they tried. We spend a lotta time on the farm raisin bulls. Ain't shit to do. We tend to see who can get the drunkest and not barf when riding."

"Can I ask why you left there then?" Why is this guy so curious about me?

No way I'll tell this man the truth. "Girlfriend graduated. She had to move back to help her family's orchard." Kind of true. Just not the part where I followed her and bought her a house so we could fall in love again.

"She here?"

I nod, turning to the crowd to see if I could find Charlie. She stands next to the bleachers, talking to another rider. "She's in the orange button-up. She won the barrel racing."

"Pretty thing." She was a pretty thing. She was my pretty thing. I stand here looking at her as if I'd never spoken to her. If my eyes could change shape, they'd be in hearts as I look at her.

"Dutton, let's go." Someone calls my name.

"Nice to meet you, Riley." He nods, and I leave him standing there as he watches me.

I find my bull, setting up my rope, lacing my fingers in the rope, and taking a deep breath. I wait for the signal and nod for the guys to open the chute. The bull leads me into the arena as I raise my left hand in the air. It's natural. I don't worry about the bull bucking or trying to stay on. I worry about getting off. That's where the bull will get you.

Ive only been taken down by a bull twice, the last being over a year ago. The clowns do a good job at gaining the bull's attention to forget about me. The first time I got knocked senseless by a bull, I was nineteen. Broke my arm and had a gash on the side of my leg from the horns of the bull.

The buzzer sounds, almost like the eight seconds never started. It's already over. I slide off the side, running towards the arena railing, and climb over it. It happened to be the side Charlie was on. I run to her, picking her up in my arms. "You've done it again, Colt!"

I kissed her before letting her go, running to the chute to retrieve my rope. I look up to the top and see Riley glaring down at me with a scowl on his face. He doesn't look happy.

Some dudes high-five me as I walk past, and others roll their eyes.

"Colt Dutton, may I speak with you for a second?" A man in dressy riding clothes asks. I nod, removing my helmet and running a hand through my hair. "I'm Will Owens with the PBR. I've watched you riding over the years. Is it okay if I get in contact with you to discuss something in a more private manner?"

My eyes widen. The PBR? No fucking way. I shake his hand, "Course we can get in touch. That would be incredible." A win for me and my girl, and a possible PBR tour? Yes, please.