“Miranda told me you were a rodeo star.”
His head snaps in my direction. “She knows?”
“She mentioned it last night.”
“I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Hunter must’ve told her. I left that life behind me.”
“Not that I know anything about rodeos, but it sounds quite dangerous. Did you have to stop because of an injury?”
His nostrils flare and his fingers grip around the steering wheel.
I drop a hand against his arm. “I’m sorry?—”
He places his left hand over mine. “Don’t be.”
“Maybe I asked the wrong question?”
He turns his head in my direction for a brief moment. Sadness flickers in his eyes.
“We don’t have to talk about this.” The words come tumbling out of my mouth.
“You did nothing wrong. It’s still hard for me to talk about it.”
“Oh, okay. I don’t want to rush you. I was interested in knowing more about your past.”
“And rightly so.” He removes his hat and tosses it in the backseat. “Yeah, I used to be big shit in the rodeo circuit. I was a bareback rider. It’s the only thing I wanted to do since I was a little boy.”
“What does bareback riding mean?”
“It means I was able to ride a horse without a saddle or rein. Bareback bronc riding involves only using a rigging that consists of leather and rawhide attached to a surcingle and placed just behind the horse’s withers. Think of the handle of a suitcase.”
“I see.”
“They don’t call it a sport for nothin’. Being a rodeo rider isn’t chickenshit. I’ve endured lots of broken bones and bad injuries. I’ve been thrown off a horse more times than I can count. And I lost more competitions than I won, but I always dusted myself off, got up, saluted the crowd and knew I’d have another chance. Another competition. That’s just the nature of the sport.”
“Did it pay well? I mean, it sounds a bit dangerous.”
“The prize, when you come in first place, is worth it. The feeling of hoisting the winning check over your head, flashing big numbers—sometimes seven figures—for all the world to see, is surreal.”
“Wow.”
“I’ve made enough money in my career not to work for a long while, but I needed to keep my hands—and head—busy. I get both at my new job. After leaving the rodeo world, I lost my soul. Jenkins and April rescued me in many ways?—”
“Rhett, you don’t have to keep going if it brings back bad memories.”
“I want you to know that part of my life.”
“Okay.” I’m dying to know as much about him as he’s willing to reveal.
“Like I said, rodeo life was my everything. I lived for those eight seconds on the back of a wild horse,” he says, his eyes boring into mine. “The thrill. The rush. The adrenaline. The cheers. The adulation. It was like a drug. Man against an untamed animal… there’s nothing like it.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “When I walked away six months ago… it had nothing to do with an injury.”
“What happened?”
He nods, more to himself than for my benefit. “Jenkins and I have been best friends since we were boys. He competes on the circuit, but he’s an amateur.”
“He wasn’t interested in becoming a pro like you?”
“Since the passing of his parents, his focus has been on raising April, so he pretty much stays in town.”
