Chapter 41

“Shake it off,” Derrick said, helping him up, throwing an arm around him and glaring at the opposition. Quinn wanted nothing more then but to shake Derrick off, as well as the hapless trainer who no doubt had his hands full sending crybaby Lance-o-little off to the hospital with his busted leg—to say nothing of consoling Smalley in the wake of his favorite being injured, again—and now came hopping out onto the field to tend to Quinn. He could bear anything but their kindness.

Come on, Novak, Quinn told himself. This is no time to feel sorry for yourself and withdraw like Achilles, sulking in his tent. So he gave Derrick a reassuring pat and waved the trainer away with a laugh, even though his head still ached like a sonofabitch. How he’d love to hogtie those Steers, he thought, mixing his animal husbandry metaphors.