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It was his first real holiday in at least a decade. Aziraphale had been telling himself he'd take one for ages now, so when Anathema, a customer turned friend, called to invite him on a trip to America, he decided that it was finally time.
That was how he'd ended up here, on a dusty wooden seat, wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a white cowboy hat. It definitely wasn't his typical style, but it was fun to dress up, and it was the customary attire for attending a rodeo.
Anathema had attended several such events as a child and wanted to share the experience with Newton and Aziraphale. Despite his initial misgivings, Aziraphale found he was having a lovely time. There were a variety of food trucks set up outside the event, and Aziraphale had visited several of them. While Americans did seem to have a strong preference for fried food, Aziraphale was pleasantly surprised at how scrummy it all was.
The pageantry of the Grand Entry ceremony was impressive, especially considering all of the participants were on horseback, which Aziraphale had heard could be quite temperamental.
The show started with the roping events, and Aziraphale was impressed by the speed and skill of the competitors. The steer wrestling event was exciting as well, and by the time the saddle bronc event began, Aziraphale was on the edge of his seat.
It seemed that the horses were winning out today, as all the other riders had been thrown before the buzzer sounded. As the final rider exited the chute, Aziraphale was riveted. He wore all black, from his hat to his boots. The horse’s name was Satan, a brown horse with a black mane and tail, and wild eyes. It jumped out of the chute and kicked hard, but the rider remained in his seat. Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat as the eight seconds slowly ticked by. The horse fought hard, but no matter how they bucked, the rider didn’t budge.
When the buzzer finally rang, the cowboy let go, and the horse flew out from under him. He landed in a crouch, pulling off his hat as he stood, revealing bright auburn hair. The cowboy waved his arms in the air, encouraging the crowd to cheer louder, a smug grin on his face. Aziraphale jumped to his feet, clapping madly before realising how silly he looked. Anathema raised a questioning eyebrow at him as he sheepishly took his seat.
During the setup for the barrel racing event, Anathema and Aziraphale decided to find a sweet treat. As they stood in line for the highly-priced, deep-fried Oreos, Aziraphale spotted the bronc rider. There were nearly a half-dozen young ladies hanging about him as he grinned and chatted, and Aziraphale couldn’t help the pang of jealousy he felt.
“Buckle bunnies,” Anathema said beside him. “They hang out at the rodeos trying to get the cowboys' attention.”
“I see.”
“You should go talk to him.”
Aziraphale turned to her, incredulous. “I couldn’t possibly. I’m not–”
“Well, don’t look now.”
Aziraphale did look and saw the cowboy sauntering towards him. The vague urge to flee appeared just as his feet were rooted to the ground. The cowboy tipped his hat.
“Hello there. Nice boots.”
Aziraphale’s jaw fell open. “You’re English!”
“I am.” The cowboy chuckled. “Somebody had to come show these Yanks how to ride a horse.”
“You certainly did tonight,” Anathema cut in, while Aziraphale was too busy dying of embarrassment.
Being faced with a handsome, English cowboy whose alpha scent reminded him of spiced wine and dark chocolate had Aziraphale nearly buckling at the knees.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said with a little tip of his hat.
“Anathema,” she replied, reaching out her hand.
“Crowley,” he said, shaking it.
“And this is my dear friend, Aziraphale,” Anathema added. “It’s his first rodeo.”
“Welcome,” Crowley said, looking Aziraphale right in the eye. “I hope you’re enjoying it.”
“Yes, it’s been lovely, and you– you were really wonderful,” Aziraphale said, finally managing to speak.
Crowley smiled wider then. “You think so?”
“Oh yes! It was truly splendid.”
“Thank you,” Crowley replied. “Will you be staying for the dance afterwards?”
Aziraphale looked like a deer in the headlights; he turned to Anathema. She rolled her eyes at him.
“Yes, he will,” she answered.
“Brilliant,” Crowley replied. “I hope you’ll save me one then.”
A nervous nod was all the response Aziraphale could manage. Crowley tipped his hat.
“Enjoy the rest of the show.”