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“How does this look?” Leone stepped out from the bathroom, holding out his arms to fully show off his outfit.
Leone’s cousins were both sitting on his Murphy bed, ready to judge his clothes. Leone didn’t know why they had chosen to drag down the bed rather than sit on the couch that was a whole step away. Probably because they couldn’t stretch out on the couch like they could on his bed. But it was just as likely that they were doing it to be annoying.
Sergio, the cousin closest to Leone’s age, looked him up and down. With a jerk of his head, he gestured to Leone’s shoes. “Those usually aren’t the kind of boots that we’re talking about around here.”
Leone looked down at his combat boots. Well excuse him for not immediately running out and buying cowboy boots when he agreed to move out here to help Nonna Margherita and Zia Rucola’s family at the lodge. All in all, for someone who’s never lived outside the city, he thought he had adapted his clothes pretty damn well. Black jeans and a loose black shirt, tied together with a purple denim jacket and some layered black and gold necklaces (not his expensive ones, those were staying locked up in his jewelry box behind the safe until he found an occasion to wear them). So really, he had no choice but to glare at Sergio as scathingly as he could.
Unfortunately, his family was largely immune to his intimidation tactics. Especially not the ones who recently saw him get beaned in the head with a wooden spoon after talking back to Nonna.
“Oh, shut up, Sergio,” Claudia, his slightly younger cousin, said as she kicked his head with a socked foot. “You look great, Leone.”
“Thank you, Claudia.”
“But I still think you’d catch a bit more attention if you had taken me up on my offer and wore some of my shorts.”
Sergio threw his head back in a laugh. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you’ll lose a finger before Leone lets you dress him up in that. Right, Leone?”
“I’ll shave your head in your sleep if you try to get me to wear that shit.”
In all of her audacity, Claudia laughed in his face. “Oh please. I’d still look fabulous bald. I did inherit the Abbacchio cheekbones after all.”
“And the big ass Cavatappi mouth.”
“Pfft.” Claudia tossed her white hair over her shoulder. “You’re just mad that people keep thinking you’re me.”
His cousins cackled as they finally got off his bed, completely ignoring Leone’s grumbles. He took a quick moment to straighten out the sheets before pocketing his key and following them out the door. For once since he moved to the middle of nowhere, he was going somewhere within walking distance. It took them about fifteen minutes to get from the lodge to the rodeo grounds. Once they paid their admission, Sergio and Claudia abandoned Leone to go hang with their friends. Whatever. He had his own party to get to.
“Heeeeeeeeey! Leoooooooooneeee!”
Narancia was the loudest son of a bitch that Leone had ever met. If the shouting wasn’t enough to catch everyone’s attention, him jumping and waving like an excited little monkey certainly was. Two of Paolo Buccellati’s kids were standing next to him, one (Fugo) desperately trying to pull Narancia to the ground and the other (Giorno) watching with a vaguely amused smile. Leone grimaced at the volume, but lacking anyone else tolerable to sit with, he ambled over.
“Did you lose the others?” Leone asked, glancing around for Mista, Trish, and Bruno.
“They’re competing in some of the events this evening,” Fugo said as they walked further into the rodeo grounds.
“Bruno's competing? I thought he was just a coach.” At least that’s what Leone had seen at Paolo’s ranch. Several times when Leone drove over there for some errand from his family—which were becoming more and more bullshit by the day (he was wise to Nonna’s schemes)—he had seen Bruno working with kids and teens to perfect what Leone now assumed were their rodeo events. But he never saw Bruno practicing on his own, so he safely assumed Bruno was a coach and nothing more.
Fugo proved him wrong by shaking his head. “No, Bruno competes. He doesn’t do the big rodeos anymore—he got tired of the whole rigmarole as he got older—but he’s got a handful of buckles back at the house.”
“Buckles?”
“Belt buckles—you win them at rodeos. Anyway, like I said, nowadays, Bruno attends the big rodeos as a guest or with the kids he’s coaching. But he’s happy to compete at the local one.”
“He just doesn’t want to drive the trailer for that long!” Narancia chimed in.
“Good.” Fugo looked as serious as the grave. “He shouldn’t.”
Fugo returned to instructor mode and started tapping his fingers as he listed each event. “Bruno’s competing in calf roping, and Trish does breakaway roping. Both of them are competing in barrel racing, individually, and then they’re competing together in the team roping. So don’t expect to see them all night. Mista might come up to the stands with us after his event, but it’s also possible that he’s helping Paolo.”
Giorno furrowed his brow for a few seconds in thought. “I can’t remember if he mentioned anything before he left. Has anyone seen Formaggio around? That’s usually a good sign that he doesn't need to.”
The other three fell into a bit of small talk, so Leone tuned them out, choosing to look around the rodeo grounds instead. The stands were metal, like the bleachers at his high school, though they did have the added bonus of a large wooden cover blocking the sun from heating the metal. There were people walking to and from the back of the stands, returning with food and drinks. So that must be where concessions were. Nonna did say that he didn’t need to eat before going. The arena itself was a large circle, enclosed by fences and gates. Across the way, there were several chutes with gates leading into the arena. The ground seemed to be either soft, loosely packed dirt or sand, and in the distance, someone was running a large rake to smooth out the ground. Leone continued his lazy inspection of the area, but something bizarre caught his eye and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
“Who’s that clown?” Leone asked, not giving a damn if he was being rude by pointing.
Narancia followed his finger to the man at the other side of the arena. “Oh! That’s Dave. He’s a rodeo clown.” Cupping his hands to his mouth, Narancia shouted, “HEY DAVE!” Dave the clown turned and waved at Narancia with a huge smile before returning to his conversation with the most cowboy-looking man that Leone had ever seen, including everyone working on Buccellati’s ranch.
Leone raised an eyebrow. “Are there circus events here or some shit?”
Fugo glared and smacked Leone’s arm. “Hey, you respect the rodeo clown,” he said with more intensity than anyone should hold toward a clown.
“The hell?” Leone backed away to get out of Fugo’s reach.
Giorno intervened before Fugo went off the handle. “Rodeo clowns are actually really important, believe it or not. They’re in charge of distracting the bull after the riders fall off so they can get away safely.” Giorno gestured toward Dave the clown. “Dave is the only thing standing between Mista getting trampled by a bull.” Giorno deflated and under his breath, he grumbled, “Again.”
“Wait. Mista is a bull rider?”
“Yes, he is.”
“I’ve seen him almost lose an eye to hens!” He didn’t know what was wrong with those chickens, but Mista’s hens didn’t seem to get the memo that cock fights were done by roosters. “And we’re trusting him to ride something that weighs a ton?”
“You’d be surprised how durable Mista is,” Fugo said. “He’s bounced back from situations that really should’ve landed him in the hospital.”
Leone quirked an eyebrow, not convinced. “Really?”
“Our running theory is that if we don’t tell him what should hurt him,” Giorno said with an unimpressed stare, “he’ll be perfectly fine.”
“And if that doesn’t work, Giorno’s planning on taking out life insurance,” Narancia said as he started moving toward the stands. “So it’s all good.”
Giorno shrugged. “Might as well, with the amount of stress he puts me through.”
The four found a good spot in the stands and settled in. Narancia and Giorno stepped away to do a concession run, returning and passing out the goods just as the MC took the mic. (And wow, that man was destined to work in rodeos with a surname like Horse.) Leone paid attention to the events as best he could, but he couldn’t get nearly as invested as the others. Even Giorno, stoic as he was, would let out a little hiss of displeasure or would do a small fist pump by his side. It was to be expected. Leone didn’t know the rules, and he didn’t know the people competing for the most part. It was interesting and the excitement was palpable, but he wouldn’t say that his heart was in it when he cheered. It was like watching a game when neither team was one he cared about: he could appreciate the athleticism, but he couldn’t bring himself to get more invested than that.
The MC’s words had become a buzz in his ears, so he was checked out and zombie eating when Narancia jammed his elbow into Leone’s side. He was a second away from barking out a curse but cut himself short when Narancia said, “Bruno and Trish’s event is up.”
Leone leaned to the side to see where Narancia was pointing. It took a bit of squinting and neck angles that Leone would come to regret in the morning, but he could see a hint of Bruno in the distance beyond a series of gates. It wasn’t the easiest to find him due to the hat covering his identifiable bob, but after a little bit of looking, Leone could see him leading two horses. One he recognized as Sticky Fingers, the horse Bruno rode more often than not when his feet weren’t planted on the ground. The other Leone wasn’t familiar with. That didn’t mean that he had never seen it at the ranch, but horses pretty much looked the same to him. As he walked the horses from a nearby barn, Bruno was talking with two men: one with long blond hair leading his own horse, one pushing along in a wheelchair between them.
(“Oh shit! I didn’t know your weird cousin was competing today!”
“Narancia, you can just say my cousin. You don’t need to add the weird qualifier to every member of my family.”)
Bruno passed off the horses to an attendant and walked toward the line-up of contestants just outside of the arena. Not wanting to keep straining his neck for glances of the only person he recognized, Leone turned his attention to the arena. And good thing too, because not too long after he turned back to the arena, a steer started running through the loose dirt. Once it reached a certain distance, the gates flew open and the two men who were walking with Bruno took off. The man who replaced his wheelchair with a horse raced slightly ahead and threw a lasso at the steer. It landed around its neck, and after tightening the rope around the saddle horn, he directed the steer inward. That gave the blond the opportunity to rope the steer’s back legs, catching both of them in one rope. Both horses came to a stop, and the ropes went taut, immobilizing the steer. After a few seconds, the steer was released, and it wandered through an open gate at the other side of the arena to join other livestock in a corral.
“So what am I looking at here?” Leone asked Fugo, the only one he trusted for a clear explanation.
Fugo started his explanation as the next competitors—two identical women with green hair—got settled on their horses. “So each of the riders have a different role. One’s a header, the other’s a heeler.” The steer took off, and like before, the gates opened when it reached a certain distance. “The header is going to throw a lasso around the head of the steer, usually landing around the neck or horns.” The woman in the lead threw her lasso, with it falling around the steer’s horns. She wrapped the roped around the saddle horn and tightened the slack. “Now, the header is going to lead the steer so the heeler can get the legs.” The other woman threw her rope and just as Fugo said, lassoed the steer’s legs. Again, the horses stopped running and backed up, pulling both ropes taut and preventing the steer from moving. “Once they pull the steer like that, time is called and penalties are tallied. Fastest time wins.”
“Hm, seems a lot less dangerous than something like bull riding,” Leone said, leaning on his elbows. “Why doesn’t Mista do something like that?”
Narancia snorted and rolled his eyes. “Shows what you know. Bruno’s almost lost fingers during this event.”
“What?” Leone turned to Narancia as the next two riders queued up—a sharp-looking man with black hair and a blond who looked like he might mug someone on the way home.
Narancia nodded. “Yeah, it was a couple of years back.” Narancia pulled the drawstring of his jacket and wrapped it around his middle two fingers. “He was looping the rope, but he got his fingers mixed up in it and couldn’t get them out before the cow started running.” He grabbed the string between his teeth and pulled the other end with his free hand. He held string tight until his fingers turned purple, then he loosened the loop. “He’s fine now, but he’s got some pretty gnarly scars on his fingers. We’ve been trying to get him to wear rings to distract from them. Can’t believe you haven’t noticed them.”
“I don’t make staring at hands a habit of mine." That sounded like serial killer behavior. "But I take it he was able to heal well, if he’s still doing the event.”
“Yeah, he loses a bit of time because he’s a little paranoid about looping the rope now,” Fugo said, “but it’s worth it if he’s staying saaa—HELL YEAH! Five second penalty!” Fugo ignored the startled look on Leone’s face after the sudden outburst and held a hand out to high-five Narancia.
“Eat shit, Prosciutto!” Narancia tacked on as he slapped Fugo’s hand.
“The hell was that?” Leone asked. Giorno looked around Narancia and pointed at the arena. The two from before were already out of the circle, and a new duo were finishing their run. “See how they only have one leg in their lasso?” Now that he’d pointed it out, yeah see the bulky guy behind the steer only had one leg pulled back. “If you don’t get both legs, you have a five second addition to your time.”
Leone nodded, understanding now. “And we have something against him?”
“Against Pesci?” Narancia asked. “Nah, he’s pretty cool. We go fly fishing with him sometimes. Our beef is with that asshole.” He pointed to the blonde who was exiting the arena.
Leone squinted, trying to get a better look at him. From what he was able to see from the stands, all he could determine was “He looks like a prick.”
Fugo barked out a laugh. “Yeah? You’ve got a good eye on you. Doesn’t say much about Bruno’s type.”
Leone squinted even harder. “Is that guy his boyfriend?” He seemed handsome enough, but he had a face that made Leone want to follow him in the winter until he slipped on some ice and fell on his ass.
“Exe, thankfully. Though it was looking pretty grim there for a while. There were proposal talks for a time.”
“We really should’ve taken it as a sign when Sticky Fingers bit him the first time he visited,” Giorno said with the faintest grin.
Narancia raised his drink. “Here’s to Sticky Fingers, the only one of us who’s never been polite to that guy.”
Fugo nodded solemnly. “The wisest of us all.”
Leone wanted to ask more about the whole ordeal because that sounded like a story, but Narancia quickly shushed him. “Shhhhhhh, Bruno and Trish are up.”
Behind the gates, Trish and Bruno were sitting on top of their horses. At one point, Bruno had explained what the actual term for their horses’ coats were called, but Leone couldn’t remember them. All he knew was that Sticky Fingers was the one that was white with black spots and Spice Girl had a pale redish coat. Both riders and horses looked antsy with barely contained energy, but Bruno and Trish seemed ready to launch forward the second the gate opened.
Bruno took off like a shot the moment he was able. Leone had seen him riding at Paolo’s ranch many times, but this was something completely different. The usual poise was absent. Both Bruno and Sticky were charging ahead, unrestrained. It was like seeing Bruno at his most wild, reaching into something fundamental within human nature. Yet, Leone knew that Bruno was completely in control of the situation. The lasso flew and landed as perfectly as it could’ve (in Leone’s opinion) around the steer’s neck. The boys said that Bruno lost time wrapping the rope, but he’d never guess that watching him. With an easy turn, Bruno guided the steer with the finesse of a ballerina.
In an impressive showing from the little fashionista—his fellow city transplant—Trish didn’t hesitate to take advantage of opening that Bruno created for her. Lassoing the hindlegs came to her as easily as pinpointing not just Leone’s makeup pallet, but the trademark name for the specific color of his eyeshadow. In no time at all, the steer was released and ambled to his gate while the two riders trotted to their exit.
Leone briefly glanced at the next two riders—a man wearing a cowboy hat with bison horns and either a masculine woman, a feminine man, or an enby who mastered androgyny—but ignored them in favor of keeping an eye on Bruno and Trish. They dismounted from their horses and passed the reigns to rodeo assistants who escorted them away. Bruno and Trish faced the judges, staring at them expectantly. Once they released the riders' time, Trish jumped at Bruno, who lifted her in a hug. The wide grin lit up his whole face, even from Leone’s vantage point from the stands.
It was a good look on him.
───※ ·✥· ※───
After the rest of the events wrapped up, Fugo, Narancia, and Giorno led Leone toward what amounted to “backstage” of the rodeo. Leone wasn’t sure if he was allowed back there, or if the others were for that matter, but Narancia insisted that no one would really care if he was with them. The boys explained that they were going to help Paolo transport some of the animals back to the ranch.
“A lot of the competitors have Paolo house their animals,” Giorno explained. “You wouldn’t really expect someone with a day job to be able to responsibly take care of a horse at their house. Instead, they pay Paolo to keep them.”
“That makes sense,” Leone said as he dodged an employee.
“And because Paolo’s place isn’t too far from here, pretty much everyone who works at the ranch take turns loading the animals, taking them back home, and getting them settled back in.”
“Then why are you helping? You’re a florist, not a ranchhand.”
“And Fugo’s a lawyer.” Giorno quirked an eyebrow. “What’s your point?”
“We help Paolo,” Fugo said.
“That’s our dad!” Narancia said passionately.
Fugo nodded like Narancia said something so true it could hold up as court evidence. “That’s our collective dad.”
Speaking of Buccellati, Paolo and Bruno were talking as they led Sticky Fingers to one of the horse trailers. Narancia ran past them to reach where Trish and Mista were standing with Spice Girl, probably to congratulate them on ranking well in their events. Paolo paused his conversation as a Narancia-shaped blur ran past him, and he turned to wave at the group approaching at a reasonable speed.
“Boys! Thank you for lending a hand.” He dropped a firm hand on Giorno’s and Fugo’s shoulders. “I know it’s late, and you probably have work in the morning, but I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Paolo,” Fugo said. “Besides, everyone knows I’m a crab in the morning anyway.”
“And the flowers don’t care if I’m tired.”
Paolo turned to Leone. “And did you enjoy yourself? This is your first time coming here, right?”
“This is my first rodeo, period.”
Paolo’s thick eyebrows rose. “Really! Well then, I sure hope we put on a good show for you. Think you’ll be back?”
Leone nodded. “I think I can let my cousins drag me out again.”
Paolo laughed and patted his arm. “That's great to hear. You have to let us know when you're coming out again.”
Fugo cleared his throat. “Paolo, could you show us where we can help?”
Paolo nodded like he was in on a secret. “Right this way, boys.”
The three walked off, leaving him with Bruno and the other three a few feet away. Bruno ran his hand down Sticky Fingers nose and nodded in greeting to Leone.
“Hey, nice job out there,” Leone said, stepping closer to Bruno and his horse.
“Thanks. It’ll be a chilly day in hell when I get top spot on nights when Gyro and Johnny complete, but second isn’t anything to sneeze at.”
Leone nodded as though he didn’t grow up in a “second is the first of the losers” household. He risked a quick glance to Bruno’s fingers, trying to see where the scars were, but his hands were moving too much and the sun had set a little while ago, so there wasn’t any hope.
“Something wrong?”
Obviously, he wasn’t subtle enough. Leone stood up straighter, avoiding Bruno’s eyes. “The others mentioned they were trying to get you to wear gaudy rings or something. I didn’t know what they were talking about until they explained. Sorry, that was a jackass move.”
Bruno laughed and shook his head. “Yes, it is, but I’m not self-conscious. They’re always suggesting something or other to cover up my scars, but rings are the worst possible option.”
He held up his left hand and wiggled his middle two fingers. It wasn’t nearly as obvious as the boys made it sound like, but they also knew what his hands looked like before. Now that he knew what to look for, Leone could see rings of pinched and discolored skin around those two fingers.
Bruno laughed. “There’s a bit of a mixed message if I start wearing a ring here.” He wiggled his left ring finger. “A bit counterintuitive for a single man trying to get asked out for drinks.”
Leone cleared his throat. “Well, there are people who might ask someone out even with a ring on. Though, they might not be the quality of person you want buying you drinks.”
“No, you’ve got that right.”
Bruno’s eyes suddenly went wide, and he pitched forward. Leone quickly grabbed Bruno’s shoulders and stabilized him. Bruno grabbed onto Leone’s arms in turn as he got back on his feet.
“Are you okay?” Leone asked.
Bruno nodded but turned to look over his shoulder. “Yeah, but apparently someone didn’t like being ignored.” Sticky Fingers let out a huff. “Yes, I’m talking to you.”
Slowly, Leone removed his hands from Bruno, giving him the cue to release his own hands and step away. Leone patted Sticky’s nose. “You did a good job too.”
Bruno smiled, and his hand joined Leone’s. “Yeah, he’s a good horse. Even if he is a tramp.”
A boisterous cackle was the only warning that Mista and the others had walked up behind them. “Why are we slut shaming the horse?”
Bruno sighed, clearly perturbed. “You know how the fence got damaged during the storm a few weeks ago, and Sticky got into the other pasture? Well, turns out someone decided to knock up one of the mares.”
“Weren’t you trying to get Sticky to breed anyway?” Trish asked.
“Yes, but with a running bred horse, not one of our cow bred horses who panic when a cow breaks into the pasture.”
Trish smiled sympathetically. “At least the foal’s going to be pretty.”
Bruno sighed, but reluctantly said, “Yeah, it’ll be gorgeous. Doesn’t make my horse any less easy.”
Leone snorted and covered his mouth before he burst out laughing at Bruno’s frustration. Yet again, he was nowhere near subtle enough, and Bruno turned with an intrigued look in his eye. Leone bent his head down and waved his hand to brush off Bruno’s attention. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that this is really frustrating for you. But I’ve never seen someone slut shame a horse before.”
Bruno looked performatively cross for a moment, but even he couldn’t hold back a bit of laughter. “It is a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?”
A buzz in his pocked pulled Leone away from the conversation. He pulled out his phone and nodded. “Hey, my cousins are looking for me, so I’m going to head. But thanks for including me.”
“Happy to have you,” Bruno said with a wave. “Tell Margherita we said hello.”
“She’s definitely in bed by now, but I’ll tell her when I see her.” With that, Leone waved over his shoulder and jogged toward the entry gate for the rodeo grounds.
Bruno stared at Leone until he was out of view. Sticky Fingers leaned his head on Bruno’s shoulder and huffed out a puff of warm air. Bruno turned rubbed the bridge of Sticky’s nose. “You tried your best. Thanks for being my wingman, buddy.” He pulled out from under his horse’s head and glared at him. “But I’m still mad at you.” He carefully started leading Sticky back to the trailer. “We introduce you to so many ladies that you were apparently too good for. But suddenly a pretty blue roan bats her eyes at you, and you finally decide to be a stud!” Sticky huffed. “I don’t care if it’s true love! You still put out on the first date. I raised you better than that!”
Mista fake sneezed. “Prosciutto.”
Bruno shot a glare at Mista. “I’ll make it look like an accident, Mista.”
“Yeah, Mista,” Trish said. “That’s a really rude thing to say about Moody. She’s a classy lady.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t insult her like that.”
Bruno sighed and redirected his attention to Sticky Fingers and got him settled in the trailer. “Well, you’re going to help me train the little guy. I didn’t raise my son to be a deadbeat dad.” With that, he jumped out of the trailer and locked up the door.
“Well, I can’t blame him for falling for a mysterious beauty with long legs.” Bruno didn’t like the smirk on Mista’s face. “Like father like son, after all.”
“…Fugo would defend me in a heartbeat, Mista.”