It was time to head home. He usually returned to the ranch mid-November after his last competition. This year, he’d felt especially down. He wasn’t growing any younger, and traveling the circuit had begun to lose its appeal. Settling down at the Carson ranch with his brothers to raise cattle seemed equally pointless. Wyatt wasn’t sure what he needed in his life, but he hoped to God he found out soon. He turned and looked at the old, one-story motel he’d been staying at for the past few weeks. It was a shithole, but cheap, and nobody asked him any questions. On occasion he’d bring a woman to his room. Those one-nighters usually knew better and kept quiet, no matter what he subjected them to, but the sound of his hand or a paddle against flesh could garner unwanted attention in better run places. The rodeo would start full swing next month. He’d already signed up, as usual, but something deep within tugged at him to return home for the couple weeks before he’d be on the road again in April.
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