“Go,” she whispers against my lips. “Win. Bring me back the buckle.”
I groan, resting my forehead against hers. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Sedona looks at me, her eyelids drooping again. “Go,” she says. “Please. For me.”
I stand up and look at her—tangled in the sheets, smelling like us, looking like home.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll go.” I lean down and kiss the top of her head. “But I’m coming right back.”
“You better,” she mumbles, her eyes already closing.
I turn to the door, feeling different.Lighter.
I have a rodeo to win.
But the rodeo isn’t the most important thing. She is. And she’ll be waiting when I get back.
The fairgrounds are a riot of noise and color. I steer the truck into a slot near the back of the lot, the gravel crunching under the tires, and cut the engine, the silence of the cab instantly replaced by the distant roar of the crowd and the tinny sound of country music blaring from the loudspeakers.
I sit there for a second, gripping the steering wheel, letting the adrenaline kick in. My body is tired—bone-deep tired from six days of a different kind of rodeo—but my mind is sharper than it’s been in years.
I grab my hat, shove it low on my head, and step out into the mayhem.
The smell of the fair hits me first: fried dough, spun sugar, manure, and the metallic tang of adrenaline. I walk past the food stalls, ignoring the stares from the townspeople.
They’ve all heard the rumors by now. The quarantine, the parasite, the Carson brothers locking themselves away with the Archer girl.
Let them talk. They don’t know the half of it.
I head straight for the registration booth near the chutes. Mayor Ruth Holloway is standing there in a bright blue pantsuit, clutching a clipboard and barking orders at a poor volunteer.
She looks up as I approach, her eyes widening behind her glasses.
“Tex Carson,” she says, her voice carrying that practiced political lilt. She reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure you boys would make it. Heard from Daisy Mae, who heard from Jasper that you had some kind of trouble with your Omega… we weren’t sure if the Carsons would be up for the festivities.”
Fucking Jasper.
“Wouldn’t miss it, Mayor,” I say.
Her smile tightens, but she looks relieved. “We’re glad to have you. The crowd needs a win today. They need to see things are getting back to normal.”
I nod, signing the waiver with a scratch of a pen. Normal isn’t a word I’d use for my life right now, but I’ll play the part.
I head to the holding pens. The other riders are already there, stretching, psyching themselves up. I spot Tripp Hollister near the water cooler.
He looks fresh. His shirt is starched, his chaps are polished. He looks like he just walked out of a magazine ad. He sees me and smirks, that arrogant tilt of his chin.
“Carson,” he drawls. “Heard you were busy playing doctor. Didn’t think you’d have the energy to ride.”
“I’ve always got energy to beat you, Tripp,” I say, not slowing down as I pass him.
He laughs, but it sounds forced. The other riders look at me with a mix of curiosity and wariness. They can smell the change on me. I don’t look like the reckless playboy who usually climbs on a bronc for a quick thrill. I look settled.
The announcer’s voice booms over the PA system. “Alright, folks! It’s time for the saddle bronc riding! First up, we have local favorite, Tripp Hollister!”
Tripp mounts up. The gate swings open. He rides hard, his spurs raking the horse’s shoulders in perfect rhythm. It’s a good ride. Clean.
The crowd cheers. The score flashes on the board: 86.5. Solid. Tripp dismounts and doffs his hat to the crowd, soaking in the applause.
