“Not a chance, Burke. I’ve got this.”
“Like hell you do! Move!”
The bull is coming in fast, and the ground shakes beneath the weight of the creature. River doesn’t budge. She’s a fucking statue, rooted to the spot, and the beast is bearing down on her.
“Move your ass!”
But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.
She kicks Linux forward, and the stallion takes off, and next thing I know she’s in a game of chicken with a two-thousand-pound bull. It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m about to say so when she swings her leg over the saddle and drops into the dirt.
“Thurston! What the hell are you doing?”
The bull is a dozen feet away and closing fast. She’s in the middle of the field, and her horse is making a run for it, trying to get away from the danger.
“Just watch,” she yells, but I’m not in the mood to play games.
“Get out of there! Now!”
River doesn’t flinch. Not a damn muscle. The bull barrels toward her, snorting and kicking up dirt, but she just plants her boots in the ground and raises her arms, waving them like she’s trying to flag down a plane.
“Hey, big guy!” she yells.
The sheer audacity of it stops me cold, and I’m halfway between calling her insane and galloping in to haul her stubborn ass out of harm’s way.
River crouches, reaching down to grab a handful of dirt, and chucks it at the beast’s face. The bull blinks and whips its head from side to side, trying to dislodge the earth from his eyes. She sidesteps with the agility of a damn cat, and her hand snatched the rope dangling from his neck. The one that must’ve snapped when my guys were trying to wrangle him.
The bull tries to jerk away, but River digs her heels in, twisting the rope to guide him off course. It takes a few heartbeats, but eventually, the beast slows to a clumsy stop before pawing the ground and throwing one last half-hearted snort before she pulls him into submission.
For a moment, the field is dead silent, except for the huffing of the bull and my heart pounding in my ears. I can’t believe what I just saw. My ranch hands have started to gather, and they’re staring at her with I have no doubt is the same look I’ve got on my face.
It’s awe, mixed with disbelief, and a touch of fear. Because River Thurston is either a fucking lunatic, or she’s the best damn cowgirl I’ve ever met.
River pats the massive creature on his flank and coos, “There you go, big guy. We’re all friends here.”
Friends?The bastard tried to kill her.
The beast lets out a snort and a low, deep moo, like he’s agreeing with her.
I guide Tango forward, but I can’t think of a single word to say. This girl has been on my ranch for an hour, and she’s already tamed my stallion, killed a rattler, and wrestled a bull.
I dismount my horse and make my way across the field toward her. She’s stroking the bull’s backside, whispering into his ear, and I’m not sure what to do with the scene unfolding in front of me.
“He’s a good boy, isn’t he? You’re a good boy.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you have a death wish? Are you stupid? Because I can’t decide if you’re just plain dumb or you’ve got a death wish.”
“You’d rather I’d have let that bull bust down the fence and escape? You’d rather I’d have let him run me over or trample me?”
“You had your chance to run.”
“And leave the job unfinished?”
“This isn’t the rodeo, Thurston. Your safety matters more than the bull.”
