Lucky.

Cory smiled when he saw the small red feather by the toe of his boot, shockingly bright against the dull brown dirt.

Picking it up he tucked it into his shirt pocket. Momma always told him red feathers were lucky.

He was gonna need all the luck that he could get today, the competition had been stiff.

Cory wore his papaws’ belt buckle, a scrap of his grandmas’ lace was tucked into his right boot, and a piece of rope from his momma’s first lasso was tied around what would be his free wrist. Cory had planned to wear his dad’s old Stetson but that changed when his dad caught him in the barn with Remy.

They hadn’t been doing nothing, not really, just kissing a bit. His dad had been madder than raging bull though. His pop had said time and again over the years he didn’t have nothing against ‘sissyboys’ as he called them but Cory still had the bruises from his old man’s fists. He had made sure to keep the attention on him so Remy had the chance to skedaddle.

His dad had told him after that he was sorry for the hits but that he wasn’t gonna let him see Remy no more or pay his entrance fee for today’s competition. The old man had told him that boys like him didn’t belong in the Rodeo.

But Remy was hot like hell fire, sweet as molasses, and tough as nails. He and Cory were head over heels for each other and Cory had no plans on giving Remy up.

As for the Rodeo, Cory had sold a few things and done some odd jobs to get his fee. He’d climb up on the Bronc and prove his old man wrong.